You Know The Words
by sonoflupus
Summary: Post-DH. Follows Harry and Ron as they deal with love, life and lessons learned in the aftermath of the Second Wizarding War. Slightly alternate ending to The Deathly Hallows. Harry/Ginny, Ron/Hermione, and other canon pairings.
1. Chapter 1: The End

**A/N: Right, I feel I should explain a few things. Firstly, this is a slightly alternate ending to the Deathly Hallows, based on a possibility that ran through my mind while I was reading the book. The post-DH content (ie. everything after the first couple of chapters) is mostly based on the real canon, but also has a few story arcs based on this alternate ending. However, while it may be an alternate ending, it still keeps largely to canon, canon ships and so on, although I am toying with the movie version of Neville/Luna (a "summer fling" before going on to their partners in the epilogue) which could go either way based on my whims (and yours, reviewer, *hint*). So, yeah, read, enjoy, and please review!  
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**Chapter 1 - The End**

"Harry Potter is dead!"

There was a stunned silence. Limp and apparently lifeless, Harry was peering through his lashes, taking in as much of the curious scene as he could without showing signs of life. Behind him, he could feel the nervous energy of the assembled Death Eaters, as all eyes, including Harry's, followed the pale, wraith-like figure that was now stood victoriously before the doors of Hogwarts. The first screech had just about reached the defenders inside, carried on a fell wind, but the message didn't seem to be sinking in. A few people stepped warily into the great entrance hall, and gazed on in disbelief. From his vantage point, sprawled on the stone floor of the courtyard at Hagrid's knees, Harry was squinting furiously, trying to recognise faces in the small, watery patch of vision he had. Without warning, Voldemort's head shot back, and he screamed again to the heavens.

"Harry Potter is _dead!_"

This time, his scream was accompanied by a cackle of laughter from Bellatrix Lestrange, who was glowing almost as triumphantly as her master. Slowly, as if in a wave, the laughter spread throughout the mob, as the other Death Eaters joined the din, which seemed to be half-laugh, half-cheer. Now, the defenders had got the message. Faces began to appear in the entrance hall, and Harry could make out battered, broken figures stepping tentatively out into the light, as several of the disbelieving defenders began to file out onto the steps that ran out into the courtyard, moving gradually forward, and the hall behind them filled with more anxious faces. Finally, slowly, realisation dawned on them, and hushed murmurs began to spread through the few remaining onlookers. Voldemort whirled around, lifting his hands to the heavens, and Harry quickly shut his eyes as the serpent-like face glanced at his own, then turned once more to the defenders of Hogwarts. There were a few moments of awful silence, and then, yet again...

"_Harry Potter is DEAD!_" Voldemort's serpent-like face wasn't happy – Harry doubted he remembered _how_ to look happy – but instead wore a devilish, triumphant, almost crazed stare, as a fourth shriek rang out, not from the Dark Lord, but from someone on the steps. Harry didn't even have to look – he knew, even before he saw her mane of flaming red hair, whose voice that was. Ginny broke out of the hallway, and was half way down the steps – almost bowling Seamus aside as she went – before Arthur and Bill Weasley caught up to her, and Bill shot out a hand to pull her back. She shrieked again, and collapsed to the ground. Harry was shocked – in all the time he'd known her, in all the horrors she'd suffered, he'd never seen Ginny crying like she was now. Arthur crouched down over his daughter, but didn't dare to touch her, as Bill stepped past, wand still clutched in his hand. In all the uproar, Harry hadn't realised that he had forgotten any thought of stealth, and was staring wide-eyed at the scene on the steps – fortunately, both the defenders and the Death Eaters were too busy, watching Ginny's collapse or staring at Voldemort to notice his sudden attentiveness and lack of rigor mortis.

Finally, he could see the two dozen or so people assembled on the steps of Hogwarts clearly, and make out who they were. Neville was on the bottom step, still clutching a battered piece of black cloth which Harry first took for torn robes – with a horrible lurch, he realised that the dust-stained, crumpled black article was in fact the Sorting Hat, or whatever was left of it. Oh, what he would have given to have the sword now... Behind Neville, he could see Ron's red hair, just as noticeable as his sister's amidst the crowd, and Hermione, her head buried in Ron's shoulder. Next to them, Bill Weasley was still stood, scarred and grim-faced, in front of his trembling sister and his father, who was wearing a rather shell-shocked expression. Further up, he could see various members of the Order and Dumbledore's Army – Seamus Finnegan and Dean Thomas were stood at the very top of the steps, beside a white-faced Professor McGonagall, Kingsley Shacklebolt was stood half-way up, wand out, like Bill, furious to an extent Harry had never seen on the usually serene Auror's face, and several more students and Order members were now filing in behind them. Nonetheless, Harry couldn't help noticing the lack of numbers, compared to the crowd of Death Eaters who were now stood behind him.

The defenders were pale-faced and shaken, but there was no such demeanour on the other side. Voldemort was now pacing up and down, and as he turned, Harry could see the slightest of smiles creeping onto his serpentine lips. With a sickening sensation, he tried not to think about what he would do next. Would he gloat? Would he make a last bargain? Or would he just start killing? Every muscle in Harry's body was urging him to make his move, and only his brain stopped him – with the mob of Death Eaters close behind him, he couldn't risk it, not yet. His train of thought was interrupted as the Dark Lord's spoke again, rather quietly, so quietly that everyone was hanging on his every word, straining to hear him.

"Do you see now? Do you see? The Boy Who Lived," he murmured, his voice rising in volume and feeling as he went on, "The Boy Who Lived is _dead!_ Do you see his lies, now? Your precious saviour was nothing, less than nothing! He hid behind you all, and sacrificed _your_ friends, _your_ families, to save himself..."

The words burned as Harry listened on, and it took every ounce of self-control he had to stop himself leaping up and attacking him. Voldemort, however, wasn't finished.

"I am not... merciless. I know you were lied to, cheated, _used_, by this worthless boy. I will give you one last chance at mercy. Kneel before me, place your faith in me, and you will be spared a place in the new world we are forging. Resist, and you will burn before the day is out, as will every man, woman and child you call family," Voldemort hissed more than spoke, his crimson eyes flickering over each of the defenders in turn, as he extended a pale hand, in a pale pretence of reaching out, a pale pretence of his "mercy". Murmurs were spreading through the defenders' ranks, and the Death Eaters seemed, at first, to take these as a sign of consideration. However, as moments passed, the murmurs became decidedly angrier, until, finally, they fell silent again, and the figures on the steps glared resolutely back, without a single bended knee. In the brief lull, Harry's eyes were drawn once more to Ginny – she had stopped crying, seemingly having run out of tears, and was lying on the cold stone steps, a look of blank denial on her face. Arthur had given up his efforts to calm her, and was now stood next to Bill, staring defiantly down at the Death Eaters, his own wand in his hand. Yet again, silence filled the courtyard, and Voldemort looked on, as if expecting them to start kneeling at any moment. Instead, a shout rang out, clear, and furious, and far louder than Voldemort's screeching proclamations.

"Dumbledore's Army!" The defenders continued to stare defiantly ahead, but Harry's eyes shot to Neville, with a slight shock as he realised it was his voice shouting. The plump, rather nervous boy he had once known was gone, and in his place there stood a young man with fire in his eyes. There was an awkward pause, and then...

"Dumbledore's Army!" Seamus and Dean roared from the top step. Then Ron yelled the words, as did Hermione, in a very strangled voice. Quite suddenly, the Order joined the cry. Louder than anything previous, Bill, Arthur and Kingsley bellowed out in unison, "Dumbledore's Army!" as Voldemort took a step back, clearly unnerved, while Bellatrix copied him almost exactly, taking a step back herself. Several of the other figures on the stairs sounded like they were about to join the cry, when a thin, metallic rasp silenced them.

All eyes were back on Neville, the sword of Godric Gryffindor now clutched tightly in his already-bloodied right hand, the Sorting Hat's remains in his left. Unfortunately for Neville, he only managed two steps forward before, with a low hiss, Voldemort pointed his wand at him.

"_Petrificus Totalus," _came the mutter, and Neville froze, sword still raised in his hand. Seamus' voice led several others in boos and yells of anger and disgust – they were petty, given the circumstances, but still satisfying to hear – until Voldemort flicked his wand again, and a blinding white flash erupted overhead, with a vicious roar of _"SILENCE!"_

The rabble fell silent once more, but their glares were even angrier than before, and every one of them now had a wand drawn, ready for the slightest provocation. Neville's face had frozen in a mask of realisation and trepidation, and his eyes were the only part of him that moved, roving around his sockets in a panic that made Harry's stomach turn over. Voldemort hissed again, and it took Harry a moment to realise that this time it _had _been a hiss, not his quiet words. His arm was raised, and for the first time, Nagini wove her way out between the Death Eaters' legs, coming to his side. He hissed again, and jabbed a finger at Neville, as another realisation set in for Harry, one that made his stomach drop even further, if that was possible – he couldn't understand it.

In a less panicked situation, he (or, more likely, Hermione) would probably have worked out that now the fragment of Voldemort's soul was gone from within his own, he had lost his fluency for Parseltongue. At the time, however, it was just another realisation in a scene where almost everything was moving too fast for his liking. Another serpentine hiss – this time, from the snake herself – and Nagini was weaving across the courtyard, forked tongue flicking in and out of her mouth, tasting the air, as her thick, jade-green body cut a smooth track through the dust and grime which had fallen over the courtyard floor. Neville's eyes bulged as the serpent closed him down, before he blinked, then opened his eyes with new determination. Harry recognised the defiant feeling in his eyes; it was one he had shared less than an hour ago – he wasn't going to give them the satisfaction of scaring him.

But Nagini proceeded, nonetheless. Slowly, ever so slowly, her head rose from the ground, followed by the upper half of her long, scaled torso. Neville winced as the scales brushed against his leg, but continued to stare resolutely ahead. There was a small, stifled gasp from someone in the crowd – Harry thought it might have been Hermione – as the great snake twisted around the back of Neville's legs, coiling her long frame around his knees, and then around his thighs, and then his waist, rising further and further up his petrified form as she continued to flick and taste him with her tongue. Voldemort's smirk grew, as he turned to the onlookers, and began to speak again, in the same low, tense voice.

"Who else? Who else would dare defy me? _Who's next,_" he murmured, "the disciples, who fought so resolutely in his name? The friends, who followed him into the depths of hell?" Here, his eyes and his wand flicked from Neville, to Ron and Hermione. Instantly, Ron had shoved Hermione behind himself, standing defiantly in front of her – this drew another mocking cackle from Bellatrix, and widened Voldemort's evil smile.

"Or perhaps the lover, who waited for him for all this time? The little girl who will never see her beloved again..." Ginny got shakily to her feet, staring with a look of purest hatred at Voldemort, as he flicked across to her, stepping forward, and prompting Bill's knuckles to whiten around his wand as he stood in front of her. Had Harry been able to see Voldemort's face, he would have seen his smile at its widest yet, as his crimson eyes flickered between the two, taunting Ginny, and challenging Bill. He wheeled around, and Harry once again clamped his eyes shut, as Voldemort stepped away, still murmuring.

"He never loved you, girl. He _used _you. And now he's dead," he said simply, as Harry's insides began to burn. There was a vague whispering sensation in his head, but he paid it no heed, taking it for whispers among the Death Eaters behind him, and watching on in horror as the Dark Lord turned again, pointing his wand at Ginny. Bill snapped. Before anyone could stop him, his wand was up and aimed at Voldemort.

And then, just as quickly, he had tumbled to the ground again. No-one had heard the curse – there was nothing to hear, it was non-verbal – but several shrieks rang out and the onlookers began to murmur again, as Bellatrix smirked, her wand still giving out a few puffs of orange smoke. Bill was lying, limp as a ragdoll, at the foot of the stairs, but personally, Harry was relieved – at least she hadn't used the Killing Curse.

His relief was short-lived, however. Voldemort ignored Bill's lifeless form entirely, and instead fixed his gaze – and his wand – on Ginny. A moment later, there was a flash of red light, and he muttered the second-worst words Harry could have heard: "_Crucio._"

Ginny crumpled backwards, like Bill, but still very much conscious. For the first few moments, he could see the same defiant spark he'd seen in Neville's eyes, as she tried not to scream, not to cry, not to give the Death Eaters any satisfaction. As the torture persisted, however, she finally broke, and shrieked aloud. The other onlookers – and the Weasleys in particular – began to boil over with rage, and both Arthur and Ron seemed to be itching to take some form of revenge. Harry, however, was trying to block the noise out. It was painful, heart-wrenchingly painful, and he would have given anything not to hear her screams of pain. He resorted to trying – still very conscious not to move, or give away his secret – to listen to anything else, any other sound, any other voice but hers.

The whispering in his head, which he had put down to the Death Eaters behind him, was still going, and he latched onto it, trying with all his might to listen to those voices, and not to Ginny's. And then, with a stomach-churning moment of realisation, he found that the whispers really _weren't _coming from the Death Eaters. He was sure no Death Eater sounded like Albus Dumbledore.

"_Do not pity the dead, Harry. Pity the living, and above all, those who live without love," _said the murmuring voice inside his head. After a moment's confusion, Harry began to realise – they weren't new voices as such, they were memories. But how could that be possible? Was it normal to hear memories involuntarily? He forced himself to look back at Ginny, as Dumbledore's warning resonated throughout his mind. She turned over, screamed again, and Harry's heart began to pound in his chest, as the spectral Dumbledore continued, _"By returning, you may ensure that fewer souls are maimed, fewer families are torn apart..."_

The voice was fading now, but the whisper was not alone. Others came rushing up into his head, as if vying for his attention, and quite suddenly, Sybil Trelawney's entranced voice streamed into his hearing, in perfect clarity, _"the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not,"_ she said, _"and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives..." _

Looking up, he saw Voldemort's wand withdraw back, saw a momentary pang of relief on Ginny's face, then saw the wand plunge forward again with another scream and another flash. Now, his heart seemed to be pounding against his ribs, the red mist beginning to descend, as another voice filled his head, and his blood ran cold. The same voice had haunted his nightmares for as long as he could remember, had burned in his mind even whilst he was awake, and now it spoke to him, with the same, taunting words he had heard uttered over countless murders, over countless horrors he had been forced to watch in his mind's eye.

"_You know the words..."_ Harry clamped his eyes tight shut as his mind began to blaze. When he opened them again, the scene was the same – Voldemort, wand raised, smiling maliciously as Ginny – his Ginny, he said to himself, with an odd pang of painful love – writhed on the floor, screaming again, as her friends watched on, every one of them fighting the urge to strike back.

" '_needs a powerful bit of magic behind it," _barked the impostor Moody, his words etching themselves into Harry's mind. Harry was trembling, partly out of fury, and partly out of fear – he didn't know why the memories were surfacing now, but he knew what they meant. As if to confirm it, a woman's voice, high-pitched and malicious, burst into his ears.

"_You need to mean them, Potter," _cackled Lestrange, as clearly as when he had first heard it. He had made up his mind. He couldn't just sit back and watch this, couldn't just let him torture her... Just as he was on the point of leaping up, a small, rather Hermione-liked voice muttered in his ear, not a memory, but a new thought. _"What about the snake?" _it whispered. Harry's heart stopped, and his eyes flickered across to Nagini. He couldn't finish Voldemort while Nagini lived, and he had no way of killing it... His emerald eyes flashed painfully over Ginny, as she was given another reprieve, then hit for a third time, this time sliding down a couple of steps as she began to sob. Every onlooker had their wand out now, and they all seemed ready to strike, except for petrified Neville, who was – wait, was Neville staring at him?

Harry's eyes now span around to Neville, and that simple movement made the other boy's own eyes bulge. It seemed nothing short of a miracle – Neville had the sword, he was right next to the snake, but, oh yes, he was petrified. _"Fat lot of good that does you," _mocked his common sense, as his ears tried once again to block out Ginny's screams. He was sure the torture had only been going on for a minute or so, but it had seemed like hours... Finally, just as his brain had given up, a voice came drifting up, once again. Harry tried to block it out, until he began to listen, and heard his own voice enter the conversation – for this was definitely a conversation.

"_I meant to let him kill me!"_

"_And that will, I think, have made all the difference."_

"_Explain," _the spectral Harry said, although the very-real, very-corporeal Harry in the courtyard thought he knew already, and if he was right... his heart was hammering very hard at the prospect.

"_But you already know..." _and he certainly did. As if to confirm his suspicions, his eyes fell back on Neville, whose fingers began to twitch around the hilt of Gryffindor's sword.

"_I let him kill me," _surmised the spectral Harry, as Neville and Harry stared right at each other. Neville, it seemed, had noticed the curse's lessening effects. Harry's heart was still pounding, and his ears were still ringing with screams as the Death Eaters, ever so slowly, began to laugh in unison at the girl writhing on the steps. Carefully, cautiously, he looked Neville in the face and mouthed just three words, as clearly as he could:

_Kill the snake._

Neville nodded, and his eyes bulged as he found that he _could_ nod. His fingers tightened once again around the sword's hilt, and Harry saw his arm twitch ever so slightly as his muscles took up the slack from the curse. Harry's own arm slid, inch by inch, towards his borrowed wand, still tucked into the folds of his robes. To his amazement, the Death Eaters were all too distracted to notice his slight movements, or those of Neville, whose chest began to rise and fall once more as the curse fell away.

As Harry's fingers wrapped gratefully around Malfoy's wand, Voldemort stopped once more, and stepped back. There was pure hatred on the face of each defender as Ginny slumped, whimpering ever so slightly, drifting in and out of consciousness as, in a curious contrast, Bill began to stir, the effects of Bellatrix's curse finally fading too. Unfortunately for Harry, while his and Neville's recoveries had gone unnoticed, even the triumphant Voldemort couldn't fail to notice Bill wake, right under his nose. From behind, Harry couldn't see the look of dull realisation play across the Dark Lord's face. He knew enough about the "old magic" to know _how _Harry had been protected – in fact, Harry had told him _how_ himself – and the first fragment of a suspicion was growing in his mind.

Harry's gaze shot back to Neville; he widened his eyes meaningfully, and Neville nodded sombrely, drawing a few murmurs from some of the more attentive Death Eaters, and a low hiss from Nagini. The huge serpent tensed, and the muscles in her torso crushed hard against Longbottom's ribs, but he managed to stifle his yells of pain. Instead, he clasped both hands on the ruby-studded hilt of Godric Gryffindor's sword, raised it high above his head and, before any of the Death Eaters could cast a spell to stop him, brought it crashing down.

Voldemort seemed to shriek from the moment the silver blade hit Nagini's head. To Neville's credit, he had aimed well. Nagini's head, which had been hovering over his stomach, was impaled on the sword, as dark, thick, crimson blood spilled out, staining the sword and drenching Neville's hands as he continued, plunging the sword through several coils of serpentine torso until the snake's dead weight fell away to the floor, and the sword slid free. Voldemort was spitting with rage, and set off towards Neville, wand raised, but Harry was filled with courage anew. He knew why his nemesis was so angry – the final Horcrux was gone. Now, it was down to simple mortality, and the whispers had given Harry an answer to that. The venomous hiss returned, deep within the recesses of his mind, and as Harry's eyes flicked from Neville, to the amazed onlookers, and finally to Ginny, limp and fragile, lying broken on the steps, they hissed the familiar words...

"_You know the spell, Harry..."_

There was a fresh gasp from both sides as Harry rose to his feet. Only two people didn't see it – Ginny, who was drifting into unconsciousness again, and Lord Voldemort himself, who, blinded by fury, was still set on his course for Neville, raising his wand as Harry watched on.

"It's over, Tom," he shouted, and _now _Voldemort saw him. His legs were still pacing furiously towards Neville, but his head and torso twisted as his flat, featureless face became a mask of horror and disbelief. Neither the defenders nor the Death Eaters had managed to draw their wands, transfixed with shock as they were, but Harry had his own, borrowed wand trained firmly over the pale form of Lord Voldemort.

Before anyone could react, they had locked together – in his rage, Harry wasn't even sure what spell he had cast – whatever it was, a stream of red light had erupted from his own wand, and met the stream of familiar green from Voldemort's with a loud crack, and a rumble like thunder. The spectators on both sides were stunned – no-one spoke, no-one intervened, they all merely watched the two combatants, who had fixed each other with murderous stares. Little bolts of white-gold lightning were erupting from the blaze where the two spells met, as they circled slightly, counter-clockwise, and Harry subconsciously brought himself closer to Ginny and the defenders on the stairs.

The golden blaze was intensifying now, shifting several inches either way and continuing to spit out lightning and bursts of light. There was a vague golden glow in the air, forming a ring around the two wizards that no-one wanted to cross. Harry gripped his wand tightly, focusing every ounce of his being on the golden flames, and sure enough, they began to shift, several feet towards Voldemort and the Elder Wand, as his crimson eyes shone with real fear, reflecting the flames in front of him. Another bolt of lightning, the largest yet, forked out and smashed into the courtyard wall, scattering bits of stone masonry to the floor, as several people screamed. Harry could see the red light from his own wand lengthening, as his opponent's green shortened, inch by inch, the golden inferno shifting closer and closer to the tip of his wand...

Harry didn't know how long the exchange continued – it felt like hours, but could have been mere moments – but now, the red cord of light from his wand was flickering, a fraction of an inch from the Elder Wand's tip. Every slight, nervous movement of Harry's hand made the cord wobble and twist, and, finally, as the golden flames began to shimmer over Voldemort's hands, he raised his wand, and then brought it down in a single, fluid motion, watching as the cord snaked, then smashed into the ground with a cataclysmic bang.

The golden glow in the air dissipated, as a roaring shockwave shot outwards from somewhere between Harry and Voldemort. At the same time, the Elder Wand lurched out of Voldemort's hands, flipping through the air and clattering down on the stone floor, several feet behind him.

"It's over, Tom," Harry repeated, panting heavily. The snake-like face barely registered his words, as Harry's heart filled with hatred, and thoughts of vengeance, as he looked down at the man who had killed his parents, who had brought so much misery to so many good people. He _did_ know the spell, and he knew what the memories were saying, what his own mind was telling him to do...

He stole one more painful glance at Ginny, and his gaze hardened. Before anyone could stop him, before he could even doubt himself or his own strength, the two fateful little words had slipped from between his lips, to dance in the cold night air.

"_Avada Kedavra."_


	2. Chapter 2: Avada Kedavra

**Chapter 2 - Avada Kedavra**

The brilliant green flash Harry had seen so many times before filled the air, but this time, he was filled not with dread, or horror, but with a surge of relief, even as his wand hand began to shake.

In death, Tom Riddle looked very small, and very futile. There was a glimmer of rage and fear in the crimson eyes, and Harry knew, with a pang of satisfaction, that Riddle would never know how he had lost. Harry had his suspicions, and he could confirm them later. Riddle could not. He would die, never knowing his final, ignorant mistake. Without so much as a groan or a whimper, Lord Voldemort dropped to his knees, and the snake-like eyes began to glaze over. Harry knew his body would not burn, or bleed, or even scar. But the job was done, nonetheless.

Voldemort's body crumpled to the ground, and for at least a minute, there was a dreadful silence. Bellatrix and the other Death Eaters were staring on, appalled, angry, and utterly, utterly shocked. On the other side, the defenders were staring in amazement at Harry. Their first instinct would have been to cheer, but they were all too aware of the enraged mob just feet away from them, across the courtyard. The first shots came, much to Harry's relief, from the steps of Hogwarts. Kingsley, Arthur, and the newly-awoken Bill shot off a myriad of curses and stunning spells into the massed ranks of the Death Eaters. Within moments, the mixed crowd of students and professors on the steps had followed suit, sending their own spells whistling towards the stunned mob.

Harry's first instinct was to run, and fast. He heard several curses crackle, hitting the stone floor behind him, as he bowed his head and ran. Mere moments after starting his run, he saw Ron and Hermione, still side by side, aim their wands at him and mutter a combined spell of their own. He _felt _the Shield Charm rather than heard it, sensing the heat on his back as more Death Eater spells bounced harmlessly away. Risking a look back, he turned, and saw a masked face lunging towards him. Panicking, he raised Draco Malfoy's wand again, but someone else got there first: mid-lunge, the masked figure was bowled aside, as Hagrid's full, furious weight pinned him to the ground.

Before he had a chance to do anything else, Harry saw a flicker of movement in the corner of his eye, and turned to see a grizzled, grimy face about a metre away. There was a bright purple flash, his ribs seemed to become molten, and his vision blurred, before he toppled backwards, hitting the stone floor with a loud thump.

* * *

><p>Ron had been the first to see Harry fall, not that he was the <em>only <em>one. Within mere moments, a volley of curses was smashing down all around his attacker, but the figure was already turning to run. He wasn't alone – the Death Eaters were in utter disarray. Some turned tail and ran the moment the Dark Lord fell, others had stood their ground, and were now involved in a vicious exchange with the defenders, whose numbers were growing all the time as more people flooded out onto the steps to help.

Ron, however, had more concerns than simple victory. Harry and Ginny were both out cold, and his first instinct was to dart over and help – only Hermione's presence made him stay, resolutely standing in front of her as if to take a bullet. Much to his relief, however, others had had the same idea. As he ducked a whistling curse, which exploded somewhere inside the hallway, he spotted his father and brother rushing over to Ginny, casting Shield Charms as they grabbed her semi-conscious form and pulled her back up the stairs, away from the front line. At the same time, Hagrid had retreated towards the steps, inexplicably wielding a wand – Ron supposed he had grabbed it when he tackled that Death Eater – and kneeling in front of Harry's limp body, fending off the waves of vengeful spells being fired at the boy. His attention snapping back to the fight, Ron flicked his wand at the Death Eaters in general, not picking out a target in particular, and with a cry of _"Expulso" _sent two Death Eaters flying backwards, to hit the ground with a loud crunch.

The Death Eaters' morale was starting to fail now, and yet more figures turned and ran. Only a half-dozen, led by Bellatrix Lestrange, stayed and fought, and were quickly overpowered as the defenders surged out of the castle. As he sprinted down the stairs, staying as close to Hermione as possible, he saw the huge form of Thorfinn Rowle hurled to the ground, clutching at his burning robes, and vaguely heard Seamus whooping behind him. To his amazement, he could hear more sounds of fighting outside the courtyard – he stole a quick glance at Hermione, who looked mystified herself. Before either of them got an explanation, they were hurled off their feet by a tremendous explosion off to their left. Ron's rather lanky arms flailed, and he tried to grab Hermione, to stay close to her, but to no avail. He hit the ground, hard, and was vaguely aware of smoke drifting into his nostrils, but his first instinct was to get back up and defend himself.

Ron had barely gotten back onto his feet when he heard a loud, vindictive cackle. Wheeling around, he was just in time to hear a scream of _"Stupefy!" _and see Hagrid's massive form topple sideways, stunned. Bellatrix Lestrange was stalking over towards Harry, and, had Ron been able to see her face, he would have seen a visage of pure malice, hatred, and vengeful triumph. Her course was only halted when Kingsley swept towards her, purple robes billowing, and fired off a curse that missed her by inches. In response, she wheeled around and began to bombard the Auror with spells of her own, forcing him to duck and weave, blocking frantically with Shield Charms, until, overpowered by the sheer rage Bellatrix was wielding, he stumbled and fell backwards, hurled across the steps by a Stunning Spell.

Ron snapped out of his stupor as the wild-eyed Death Eater turned on her heel, and pointed her wand squarely at Harry. Ron had whipped his wand out, and was on the point of uttering an incantation when he saw another figure diving at Bellatrix. He watched on in amazement, as the figure, forgoing any magical attack, sprinted forward and collided heavily with Lestrange, sending both of them crashing to the ground with a loud, banshee-like shriek from Bellatrix.

There was a deathly calm in the courtyard as everyone took a moment to work out what had happened. Rowle and the other Death Eaters who had stayed were all unconscious, or worse, and the yells of battle on the other side of the walls were somehow dimmed as Ron surveyed the scene in front of him, vaguely aware of Hermione appearing at his side, and hugging him with a startled sob.

Harry was still lying on the stone, unconscious, but untouched. Just a few feet from him lay Bellatrix Lestrange, her face frozen in shock as her blood flowed freely across the floor. Neville Longbottom was kneeling, just next to her, and his face was frozen in shock at what he had just done – Godric Gryffindor's sword was buried in Bellatrix's chest, having struck the killing blow. Slowly, cautiously, Ron took a step forward, still keeping his wand trained on the fallen Death Eater, as Neville turned to stare up at him.

"Is she...?" he asked, tentatively. Neville nodded, his face white with shock.

A nervous silence filled the air. The Death Eaters who had stayed behind were all dead or stunned, and aside from Ron and Hermione, only Neville, Arthur and Bill remained. Ron watched, as his father very quietly stepped forward, and flicked his wand over the stunned forms of Hagrid and Kingsley with a quiet murmur of _"Ennervate"_. Almost simultaneously, they rose to their feet, both looking groggy and... well, stunned. It took a few moments for them to regain their senses, after which Hagrid stood, eyes bulging as he looked at Harry and Ginny's limp forms. Kingsley, however, was staring from Bellatrix, to the sword, to Neville. He paced over to the still-kneeling boy, and put an arm around him, whispering something into his ear which no-one else could quite hear. As Kingsley straightened up, helping Neville – who seemed somewhat emboldened – to his feet, Arthur coughed, and all eyes shot back to him. The Weasley patriarch spoke very quietly, but firmly, struggling to contain his own panic and the sense of urgency his voice belied.

"Hermione, go and find Madame Pomfrey. Tell her she'll be needed, urgently. Quickly now!" Hermione scampered off, still looking shaken, and Ron was rather sad to see her go. He soon forgot his little disappointment as his father continued, "Hagrid, get Harry to the Great Hall, Poppy can do more to help him than we can. Bill, you take Ginny. Kingsley, can you stay and make sure this lot are secured?" As he spoke, Arthur nodded to Rowle, and the other Death Eaters who had been stunned, rather than killed. Kingsley looked disgruntled at this suggestion.

"Arthur, you know I can fight."

"You've been knocked out once, just take it easy. Besides, we're going to need you when all this is done," Arthur remonstrated, although Ron didn't know what he meant by the latter statement. Finally, he turned to Ron, and nodded out towards the grounds, where the sounds of battle were beginning to fade, before setting off at a brisk walk, wand raised. Ron looked at Kingsley and flashed him a sympathetic smile – the Auror simply shrugged, and began conjuring long lengths of chain from the tip of his wand.

When he caught his father up, they were standing at the edge of the grounds, cautiously listening to the sounds of spells and the rumble of feet (although Ron could have _sworn_ he heard hooves, too) before stepping out around the corner, and letting out twin gasps of surprise.

The grounds outside the courtyard were filled by a huge skirmish – one the Death Eaters were losing. A mob of people, some of whom he recognised as shopkeepers from Hogsmeade, led by his brother Charlie and Professor Slughorn, had arrived seemingly moments after Voldemort fell. The air was thick with curses as the fleeing Death Eaters attempted to reach the gates, beyond which they could Apparate away. Arthur began to walk briskly into the battle, and Ron followed, ducking a stray curse which flew past his head, and hurling several of his own back into the fray.

This second battle, however, didn't last long. The Death Eaters were all focused on running, not fighting, and most were merely taking random, wild shots as they ran for the gates. Ron saw a few of the Hogwarts reinforcements fall, but as far as he could tell, none of the bright green flashes of _Avada Kedavra _managed to find their targets. Then, quite suddenly, another force had entered the battle. He saw one Death Eater jolt to the right, with a sleek arrow buried in his side, and looked across to see a horde of four-legged figures storming over the grounds. The centaurs roared and bellowed as loudly as the human defenders, sending arrows at the fleeing Death Eaters with alarming precision, and even riding in closer – Ron vaguely saw a chestnut-coloured centaur ride into the fray, pick a Death Eater up by his throat, and then hurl him into the stone gatepost, where his mask shattered, and he slumped to the floor. With a jolt, Ron recognised Yaxley's face revealed, bloodied, and twisted grotesquely with pain.

As quickly as it had begun, the battle began to die down. Ron had seen about a dozen or so black blurs reach the gates and vanish, but far more were now lying, stunned, cursed, or worse, on the path from the castle, as the defenders continued to bombard the remainder with curses, jinxes, and arrows.

The last couple of Death Eaters fell quickly, surrounded on all sides by the angry mob and bombarded with curses from all directions. When the last black-robed form hit the ground, there was a dull silence. The dawn had begun to break, oddly enough, when Harry killed You-Know-Who, and now the rising sun was bathing the whole grounds in an odd, orange glow.

Ron was halfway up the path, following his father, when the cheering exploded. He vaguely saw someone – he suspected Seamus – hurling a large red spark into the air from his wand-tip, which fizzled, crackled, and then died, before exploding into a vivid scarlet lion. Several of the centaurs were riding across the grounds at a breakneck pace, shooting arrows into the air as little Professor Flitwick lit them with different-coloured flames, and more fireworks exploded overhead. When Ron and Arthur finally reached the mob, Charlie appeared, fighting his way out from the crowd of bodies and standing before them, rather dumbfounded.

"It's over," he said, grinning from ear to ear, and then his face fell, as he realised the absence of the one person who really _should_ have been present for the celebrations, and muttered, "where the hell's Harry?"


	3. Chapter 3: After The End

**Chapter 3 - After The End**

The misty orange light of a summer dawn filled Harry's eyes as he woke – the whole room was bathed in a warm glow, as he sat up, and looked around, his head swimming with questions, and his chest pounding with pain. The first question was a somewhat obvious one: where was he? He was indoors, for starters, but it wasn't the cavernous Great Hall. It took Harry at least a minute to recognise the old Hospital Wing. He half expected to hear Madame Pomfrey bustling over to him, but no, he seemed to be alone. He was proved wrong by a loud sigh.

"Harry! Thank goodness..." Arthur Weasley was sat in a chair beside Harry's bed. His face looked slightly pale, and he had bags under his eyes, but his lips twisted into a grateful smile as Harry sat up, looking around. For a moment, a flicker of disappointment flashed across Harry's own face as he realised Arthur was alone. If he was honest, he'd been expecting Ron and Hermione, and he'd been _hoping_ for a certain other Weasley. He tried to cover this up with a fake cough, but Arthur seemed to be able to read his mind, or at least his face, and didn't seem to take any offence, as he spoke again, "Don't worry, the others have been in too. Everyone's been taking shifts except Ginny and George – Molly wouldn't let them, said they needed rest after what they've been through..."

As Arthur trailed off, Harry threw the covers off himself. He was still in the same dusty, slightly bloody clothes he'd been wearing when he was knocked out, but his arms and face had been cleaned of the grime that had coated them, and he could feel bandages wrapped tightly around his chest, beneath his shirt. He quickly sat up, and slid his legs off the bed, feeling a slight pain in his chest as Arthur went for the door, apparently to let the others know Harry was awake.

"Err, Mr Weasley," he called, "before you get the others, can I ask a few questions?" Arthur stopped, and turned around, looking slightly annoyed with himself for rushing Harry.

"Of course, Harry. Ask away."

"Well... what happened?" Arthur chuckled, and smiled warmly as he replied.

"Good question, given the circumstances. I assume you know you were attacked?" Harry nodded, and the Weasley patriarch continued, "Antonin Dolohov. He cursed you, then ran. I suppose he thought he'd finished you off already – Hermione says he hit her with the same curse in the Department of Mysteries..."

"It nearly killed her," Harry said, sombrely, as he remembered that particular incident.

"Well, I'll admit I thought it _had _killed you. We drove the Death Eaters off, and when we checked you, you were still breathing, so Hagrid brought you to Madame Pomfrey. She said your injuries were treatable, gave you some cocktail of potions, I honestly don't know _what_ they were, and a sleeping draught, and the rest, as they say, is history."

"And... why am I in the Hospital Wing?"

"After all your run-ins with the Prophet I thought you'd have worked _that _out, at least," Arthur remonstrated jokily, in a tone of mock exasperation, "It was Kingsley's idea. We didn't want people bombarding you with questions as soon as you woke up, so we moved you to the old Hospital Wing – it's been abandoned since the start of the battle, since Poppy was treating people in the Great Hall, not here..." Harry's head was just about getting around the situation, but he still had more questions fighting for attention inside his brain.

"How long was I unconscious?"

"About a day," Arthur said casually, ignoring the look of surprise on Harry's face. Finally, Harry could think of only one more question.

"What now?"

"Now? Well, I imagine Professor McGonagall and Kingsley will both want a word with you, but that can wait. This is a time for friends, food, and rest, in my opinion," he said, with a widening, almost fatherly smile, "Now then... ready?"

Harry nodded, and Arthur set off towards the doors again, pushing one door open and poking his head around, murmuring a few words before taking a step back. Harry had barely hopped down off the bed when the doors burst open, and a figure came rushing at him, bushy hair flying behind her.

"Harry!" screamed Hermione, as she rushed over to him and wrapped her arms around him, closely followed by Ron, who said nothing, merely grinned and patted his best friend on the back, before joining in with the hug.

Over their shoulders, he could see the other Weasleys filing in after them, along with Fleur – who looked _very_ out of place amongst the sea of red hair – and the massive outline of Hagrid. One by one, they shuffled over to him as Ron and Hermione finally let go – Bill and Charlie clapped him on the back, chuckling slightly, Fleur hugged him tightly, Percy walked over and extended a solemn hand, which Harry shook, as both men struggled to keep a straight face. Molly pulled him into a tight hug, which was only surpassed when Hagrid finally reached him, giving him a bear-hug that lifted him clean off his feet. When the half-giant finally put Harry down, his ribs were aching, but his heart was soaring with relief and joy. Only Ginny and George were missing, as Arthur had said, and he was slightly disappointed at the former's absence – he considered asking after her, but thought it would be a bit rude to the other Weasleys to do so. There was an awkward silence, as everyone looked around at each other, not quite sure of what to do or say next. Finally, Ron broke the silence.

"Bloody hell, I'm glad you're not dead, mate," he said, as Charlie stifled a laugh, and Hermione slapped him on the arm. "What was that for? I'm serious; we thought that git Dolohov had... you know..." Harry nodded sombrely as Ron trailed off, but his eyes had shot to Molly. Was he imagining it, or had she gone pale at the mention of Dolohov? He opened his mouth to inquire, but Arthur shot him a warning glance, and he quickly shut it again. There was another stifled silence, before Arthur nudged Molly on the arm.

"Come on, dear, we should probably check on George..." There was a painful glint in both Arthur and Molly's eyes, which Harry understood – no matter how relieved they were to have him back, they had still lost a son...

"Yeah, we'd best be off too, I think Kingsley wanted a word about the Ministry. Perce, you coming?" said Bill, as he took Fleur's arm, and shot his brothers a meaningful glance. Percy nodded and turned to leave, but Charlie took a moment to get the message. Hagrid, however, made his excuses for him, muttering something about centaurs and dragging Charlie out by the arm.

At last, Harry was alone with his two best friends. He retreated back to the bed, and grabbed Arthur's chair, suddenly rather tired. As he slumped down on the wooden seat, Ron and Hermione sat on the edge of his bed, facing him. Ron had his arm around her shoulders, and was still wearing a look of vague ecstasy. Harry grinned at him, and shook his head, then voiced the first question that came into his newly-relaxed mind:

"How's Ginny?" Ron's smile dropped into a scowl, directed at Hermione – she merely rolled her eyes, as if to say _"I told you so..."_. Harry had, and not for the first time, the horrible sensation that she had predicted his thoughts exactly. As Ron's scowl eased, she turned to Harry, a sympathetic look on her face.

"Well, she'll be a lot happier once she hears you're awake. She wanted to come up and see you with the rest of us, but Molly wouldn't let her, so she's been up in her dorm since then. When I went to check on her, she sounded like she'd been crying..."

"And Ginny _never _cries," added Ron, with a very serious, almost Percy-esque expression on his face. Both he and Hermione looked rather sober, as if they were remembering her reaction when they thought Harry had been killed...

"I'll go and see her later, then," Harry said quickly, before continuing, "but what actually _happened_? Your Dad told me you chased the Death Eaters off, but I'll need to know more than that if anyone asks, you know what the Prophet's like..." Here, his friends suddenly shook off their sombre expressions, and exchanged knowing grins, as they always did when they knew something he didn't.

"Oh, the Prophet won't be a problem," Hermione said, cryptically, "Kingsley's made sure of that."

"How did he manage that? Threaten them with Aurors or something?"

"Even better," grinned Ron, "they only made him bloody Minister for Magic! Well, 'Interim Minister for Magic', but it's the same thing, for now. One of the first things he did was suspend the Daily Prophet, for working with You-Know-Who's supporters – you know, printing all that rubbish about how Muggle-borns stole their magic, and how you're supposed to have killed Dumbledore," Harry's eyes bulged at the latter statement, but he decided not to press it any further. Frankly, nothing the Prophet said could _really_ have surprised him, not any more. Nonetheless, it was a huge weight off his mind to know there would be no horde of reporters waiting for him...

"Anything else I need to know?"

"Not much. A dozen or so Death Eaters got away, the rest are either dead or on their way to Azkaban... After you killed You-Know-Who, some of them ran for the gates to Apparate, but the centaurs and the reinforcements from Hogsmeade cut a fair few of them off."

"The _centaurs_? Since when were _they_ on our side?"

"Dunno. Hagrid reckons he shamed them, said he'd called Bane a coward for not getting involved."

"It wouldn't surprise me," Hermione murmured, "centaurs are a very proud species."

"We'd noticed," Harry said, scowling.

"Anyway," Ron said, hasty to change the subject, "let's go down and get some food, you must be starving!"

"Do you _ever_ think of anything other than food?" Hermione said, open-mouthed.

"Well, sometimes Quidditch..." Hermione glowered at this, and he hastily added, "And you, I think about you too." She rolled her eyes, and led the way out of the doors, as Ron shot Harry a mystified look that said, _"What did I say?"_, and Harry merely shook his head.

"So, where to? I don't know about you, but I'm starving, let's head for the Great Hall," Ron said, as if forgetting that he'd already suggested this less than a minute ago. Harry smiled slightly, as an idea popped into his head.

"I can do better than that... Kreacher!" Almost instantaneously, there was a whip-like crack that made Hermione jump with fright, and Kreacher appeared at Harry's heels.

"Ah, Master Potter... you're alive," said the elf, with a little too much surprise for Harry's liking, "what can Kreacher do for Master?"

"Food, if you can, Kreacher. Let's see... pumpkin pasties and butterbeer?" Ron nodded eagerly at this, and Hermione scowled, then seemed to have a change of heart, and giggled slightly at his child-like expression.

"Of course, master," murmured Kreacher, before disappearing with another loud _crack!_

They were halfway up the stairs to the Gryffindor common room when Kreacher returned, with another whip-crack sound, now clutching a silver tray, on which lay three ice-cool bottles of butterbeer, and three pumpkin pasties which, to Harry's amazement, were still steaming, freshly-cooked.

"Brilliant. Thanks, Kreacher," he said, as he handed a bottle and a pasty each to Ron and Hermione, and then took his own. Kreacher bowed silently, and then _crack_, he was gone.

"Y'know, he's really starting to grow on me, that elf," mumbled Ron through a mouthful of pumpkin pasty, as Hermione closed her eyes and shook her head in resignation. By the time the trio had reached the Fat Lady's portrait, Ron had finished off his own pasty, and half of Hermione's that she said she couldn't eat, and had drained his bottle of butterbeer to the dregs. Harry finished off the last mouthful of pastry, savouring the feeling of warm food in his empty stomach, and then stood in silence in front of the portrait. Slightly embarrassed, he realised that he didn't even know the password.

"What's the-" he began, before Hermione – seemingly reading his mind again – cut him off.

"Password? McGonagall changed it yesterday. Harry Potter," she said, and the Fat Lady swung open, as Hermione smirked at Harry, and continued, "I mean, it's not like she's proud of you or anything."

Harry had been half-expecting another wave of cheers as they entered the common room, but it was seemingly deserted. He realised that it was barely after dawn – everyone was still in bed, most likely. On closer inspection, there _was _one figure in the common room. With a slight pang of guilt and sympathy, Harry saw George Weasley, fast asleep in one of the armchairs by the fire, alongside an empty bottle of what looked suspiciously like firewhiskey. Ron simply shook his head, and pulled Harry towards the stairs.

"I'll go and check on Ginny," Hermione whispered, "you should probably go and get changed, Harry, I left all your things on your bed. I'll meet you back here." Harry and Ron both nodded, and headed for the dormitory stairs. No sooner had they pushed open the door to their own dorm than a series of loud cheers broke out, and Ron slammed the door shut behind them, so as not to wake George – as long as the door was closed, the Silencing Charm on the dormitories was sufficient.

"Told ye he'd be fine! Well, it would've killed the mood a bit if he'd died, wouldn't it?"

"Thanks, Seamus," Harry grinned. Seamus, Dean and Neville were all out of bed, looking slightly tired, but very happy. Seamus grabbed Harry and patted him vigorously on the back, still laughing, as Neville and Dean watched on with twin looks of relief.

"You had us worried, Harry," said Neville, smiling more widely than Harry had seen him smile in a long time. From what little he'd heard on his arrival, Neville and the DA had had just as much trouble _inside_ Hogwarts as Harry, Ron and Hermione had had _outside_ it. Seamus finally broke away, shaking his head with faint laughter.

"Do us a favour and get changed, Harry, you look like you're still half-dead," said Dean, in what he obviously thought was a nonchalant voice. Harry couldn't help laughing, and grabbed his bag from his four-poster, just where Hermione had said she'd left it.

"Alright, alright, give me a minute," he muttered, and pushed open the door to the adjacent bathroom. Once inside, he shut the door behind himself, slung his bag towards the sink – it missed, and skidded along the floor – and then crossed over to the sink himself, gripping the edge with his hands and staring into the large, oval mirror that rested above it.

He had to admit, Dean had a point. His face was certainly cleaner – the grime of the battlefield had been wiped away – but he had a number of cuts and scratches across his jaw and neck. His clothes made it look worse than it really was, however – they were covered in dirt, and were inexplicably bloody. Quickly, he kicked off his shoes, and stripped off his jeans and shirt, throwing them to the floor. After rummaging around in his bag, he pulled out a fresh pair of jeans and a new belt, and slipped them on, before examining his bandaged chest in the mirror. He couldn't help but notice that he looked less scrawny than he used to... He was still fairly lithe, but a year of travelling and fighting had put some muscle on his arms and shoulders, and his stomach now looked healthily slim, rather than worryingly thin. The bandages had been wrapped around the top half of his torso, and then looped under his arms and over his shoulders to keep them tightly in place. He turned the tap on the sink, and rinsed his hands in the beautifully cold water, before carefully rubbing some across his bruised and slashed arms, trying not to get the bandages wet at the same time. After a few minutes, with his wounds feeling much cleaner and a bit less painful, he grabbed a white t-shirt from his bag, pulled it over his head, and then reached in again, pulling out a short-sleeved, checked grey shirt, and putting it on over the top, before grabbing his old, bloody clothes off the floor. As an afterthought, he grabbed the fragments of his broken holly wand from the pocket of his old jeans, and slipped them into the pocket of his fresh ones. Finally, he closed his bag up again, splashed his face with some more water, slipped his shoes back on, and then headed back into the dormitory.

The others looked fully awake now, and had seemingly been waiting for him. Harry threw his old, grimy clothes across the room towards the laundry hamper – which moved several inches to the right to catch them – and moved over to his bed, slinging his battered rucksack down on top of it.

"So, we've got time to kill... what now?" Dean asked, and there were a few moments of silence, before at least four of the boys settled on the same idea.

"Quidditch?" asked Ron, and Harry's eyes lit up. If there was one thing he missed about Hogwarts – apart from his friends, of course – it was Quidditch.

"Sounds good to me," he said fervently, and Ron turned to the others.

"Fine by me," said Seamus, "but there's one small problem."

"What?" said Ron, his brow creasing in confusion.

"Well, we haven't got a damn Quaffle, have we?" Seamus sighed, rolling his eyes. Dean, however, sat upright, as if he'd just been hit by a very small bolt of lightning, and dived for the trunk at the foot of his bed – Harry wondered where it had come from, seeing as Dean had been on the run for the last year, not at Hogwarts, but decided it was better not to ask. Finally, Dean's head re-appeared, and he sat up, clutching what Harry recognised as a Muggle football. Harry and Seamus, who had both been brought up around Muggles, grinned and nodded. Ron and Neville, on the other hand, were eyeing it with suspicion. Dean shot them a look as if to say _"Have you got a better idea?"_, and Ron nodded reluctantly.

"We could probably get Hermione to charm it, make it act more like a real Quaffle," he said, and began to rummage in his trunk for his broom – Harry was about to go for his own, when he realised, with a slight jolt, that it was gone. It had been gone months ago, during the Battle of Little Whinging...

"Guys," he said, slightly nervously, "I don't have a broom." Seamus and Dean looked at him incredulously, and he simply muttered, "Long story."

"You can borrow mine, Harry," Neville piped up. Harry was about to ask why Neville even had a broom, when he continued, "you know how bad I am at flying, but still, I thought it might be worth having the option in case we needed to... y'know... escape."

"Erm, yeah, cheers, Neville, but won't you be flying it?" he asked cautiously, as Neville handed him, much to his surprise, a Nimbus 2000, which looked almost as new as the day it had been bought, and brought back memories of his first ever broom, back when he was a first year. "Harry, you saw me fly in first year. I haven't improved much. Besides, I've err... I've got other things to do." At this, Seamus roared with laughter.

"Sly old dog! We know what you're up to, Neville!" Dean and Ron chuckled, but Harry was mystified – he _didn't _know what Neville was up to...

"Err, Seamus? For those of us who've been unconscious for the last twenty-four hours, what _is _he up to?"

"Ah, o' course, you wouldn't know. Well, you know that blond lassie from the DA? What's her name...?"

"Luna," Dean supplied.

"Luna! That's it. Well, we were at the victory feast yesterday, and Mr Charisma here just walks up to her, says a couple o' words and kisses her! And get this, she starts snogging him back, right in the middle of everyone!" Seamus roared with laughter again, and fell back onto his bed, as Neville blushed the colour of beetroot, although Harry couldn't help noticing a wide grin crossing his face.

"Good on you, Neville," Harry laughed, and Neville nodded, still grinning. Finally, as Seamus recovered some composure, the five boys headed for the door, and began to descend the steps in single file. When they reached the bottom, Hermione was waiting, and she stared incredulously at them.

"And what _exactly_ are you doing with those?" she gasped, nodding at the brooms in their hands.

"What do you _think _we're doing, Hermione?" Ron said, with a slight grin. She shook her head, and smiled back.

"Go on then, I'll see you down at the pitch. And pass me that football, I'll work a few charms on it..." Ron tossed the football to her, and mouthed something to Dean that looked remarkably like _"Told you so."_ as they headed for the portrait hole. Harry hung back, and, once he was sure Ron and Dean were both out of the common room, turned to Hermione.

"How's Ginny?" he whispered, cautious of George's still-sleeping form in the armchair.

"Fast asleep. Poor girl's been through a lot, we should probably leave her be. And... _done._" Hermione held up the football, which was now a crimson colour, and looked slightly lighter in her hands. As Harry wondered how she'd managed to do the charms so quickly and while talking to him, she tossed the "Quaffle" his way, and sure enough, it floated on the air slightly, rather than falling in a clean arc as a football should.

"Hermione, you're a genius. Now then... Quidditch time," he grinned.


	4. Chapter 4: Quidditch

**Chapter 4 - Quidditch**

"Ye little genius, Hermione..." Hermione blushed, as Seamus re-iterated Harry's words from just a few minutes before. Neville had gone off in the opposite direction to find Luna, and the five remaining Gryffindors were now stood at the edge of the Quidditch pitch, as the four boys tossed the fake Quaffle between themselves, admiring Hermione's work. The stands around the pitch had been largely untouched – they were far enough from the castle itself to have avoided the main battle. Nonetheless, one of the stands had clearly been hit with a Blasting Curse, as the middle rows of seats had been reduced to splinters. There were also numerous pock-marks in the walls where stray curses had hit, but all in all, the pitch was pretty much intact.

"So, how are we going to do this?" said Dean, rubbing his hands together – the grounds were bathed in orange light, but the sun hadn't been present long enough to heat them up, and a cold, early morning breeze was whipping through the stands.

"Two on two? Chasers only?" Seamus suggested, and the other boys nodded in assent.

"Fine by me. Me and Harry versus you and Dean," Ron nodded, "Hermione can start us off."

Ron gently threw the "Quaffle" to Hermione, who caught it, and set off towards the centre of the pitch, as the four boys split up, heading to opposite ends. Despite it being a friendly game, Harry's mind was used to playing House matches, and he was already evaluating the teams. _For starters, Dean was the only one who had actually played as a Chaser, which was an immediate plus, and he also knew that Seamus had only narrowly missed out on the position himself, so he couldn't be much worse. Neither he or Ron were Chasers, but Ron was a Keeper, so could probably do much better at blocking shots than any of the other three, and Harry himself was a good flier, probably the best of the four, even if he said so himself – on the other hand, he wasn't flying his own broom, that would take some getting used to, but then he considered that he had flown a Nimbus 2000 for his first two years, but then –_ finally, Harry realised he was probably over-thinking it, and decided to just relax and have some fun.

"Go!" Hermione cried, and hurled the fake Quaffle to a surprising height, as all four players mounted their brooms and kicked off. Harry and Ron both knew their strengths, and knew without saying it that it would be best if Ron hung back to defend while Harry attacked. Seamus and Dean had reached a similar consensus – Dean, the "professional" Chaser, was rushing forwards towards the ball, while Seamus hung a little way behind him. Harry shot off, racing Dean towards the now-falling Quaffle. They reached it at almost exactly the same time, and Hermione – now sat in the stands – let out a little squeal, probably assuming they were going to collide. At the last moment, Dean span upside down and dropped beneath Harry, but just as Harry reached out victoriously to grab the Quaffle, Dean's leg shot out, and he kicked the ball squarely out of Harry's grasp, and over his head.

By the time Harry had hauled Neville's Nimbus around, Dean had flipped the right way up again, and grabbed the Quaffle. Now, he was streaking up the pitch towards Ron, who zig-zagged in front of him, backing up towards the golden hoops as he did. Finally, as they reached the edge of the scoring area, Dean pulled his arm back, and sent the Quaffle hurtling towards the right-hand hoop. Ron lunged to the side, only managing to get his fingertips on the ball, but doing enough to knock it wide of the goal. He dived quickly to retrieve it, as Dean retreated back towards his own end, and Harry moved closer to his.

When Ron got back up to level of the hoops, still clutching the Quaffle, he nodded to Harry, and set off, with Harry closely following. Almost instantly, Dean flew out to meet them, but with Seamus hanging back to defend, it was two on one. Ron feinted left, Harry dived downwards to the right, and Ron half-threw, half-dropped the ball underneath Dean – Harry caught it in one hand (almost dropping it, as he adjusted to the fake Quaffle's weight and shape), then tucked it into the crook of his elbow, and set off at full speed up the pitch, vaguely aware of Dean and Ron following him as he streaked towards Seamus.

The sandy-haired boy took a much less defensive approach than Ron had, and came forward, diving down towards Harry, who had to swerve to the right and double back to avoid him. Seamus came again, and managed to land a punch on the Quaffle, but after a momentary fumble, Harry regained control of it once more, and now shot upwards – Seamus' diving charge had put him behind Harry – only to find Dean now blocking his path, as Seamus roared up after him. Thinking as quickly as he could, Harry swung left, drawing Dean with him, and then, replicating a move he'd once seen Katie use in training, hauled his broom up and around, as if steering a horse. Seamus was still a couple of feet below him, and Dean had overshot him when he turned, so he seized his chance, quickly deciding on another move he'd seen in training. With Dean several feet away, he drew his arm back and launched it forward as if aiming for the right-hand hoop, but kept his grip on the Quaffle. The trick worked beautifully – Dean lunged forward, taking both hands off his broom, only to realise the dummy too late, as Harry tossed the ball towards the left-hand hoop instead, and Ron swooped down, punching the ball through the goal with a celebratory whoop. Down in the stands, Hermione forgot any notion of neutrality and cheered loudly, as Harry and Ron flew back to their goal, and Seamus dived to recover the falling Quaffle.

After half an hour of the same friendly competition, the four boys made a dive for the ground, having collectively decided on a break. The charmed scoreboard now read "40-30", although Harry suspected they had confused it, as it also displayed the words "Gryffindor vs. Gryffindor" below that. Just as he was considering calling Kreacher for some drinks, he noticed that Kreacher was already present – the old elf was descending the steps from the stands, chatting earnestly with Hermione. For a moment, Harry thought Hermione was trying to convince him of the merits of SPEW again, and prayed he was wrong. When they reached the bottom of the stairs, Kreacher made a sweeping bow (at which Seamus stifled a laugh) and then disappeared with a crack. Barely ten seconds later, before Harry had time to wonder where he had gone, he was back with an equally loud crack, now holding a tray carrying several bright, orange bottles.

"Pumpkin juice, Master Harry?" croaked the wizened old elf. Harry gratefully took a bottle, as did all three of his fellow players.

"Thanks, Kreacher, but could you stop calling me 'Master'? It doesn't feel right."

"Of course, sir," Kreacher replied, although Harry had a feeling his words had fallen on deaf ears. He shrugged, took the stopper out of his bottle, and downed the lot, feeling the ice-cold liquid course down his throat, and feeling a huge surge of relief as it did. When all four boys had finished, Kreacher Vanished the bottles, and was about to speak when a hearty cheer filled the air. Interrupted, Kreacher made another short bow, and then Disapparated.

"What's all this then? Holding your own private Quidditch match without telling us? No respect, you young'uns," cried Charlie Weasley, as he and Bill, followed by a smiling Fleur, crossed the edge of the pitch towards them. Both Weasley brothers were clutching brooms, and grinning.

"Ah, we thought you old ladies'd still be in bed!" roared Seamus cheerfully.

"Old la- cheeky git!" Charlie roared back, in mock indignation. When they finally reached the others, he and Bill exchanged knowing glances. "I think we'd better show these young pups a thing or two."

"Couldn't agree with you more," said Bill, "Come on Ron, this is Weasleys versus the world!"

"Ze world, meaning three teenage boys?" Fleur added, sticking her tongue out at Bill. "Boys. Always ze same," she continued, shaking her head. Hermione stifled a laugh and nodded her assent, and the two girls headed for the stands once more, as Harry shrugged at Seamus and Dean, and headed for the near side of the pitch, while the Weasley brothers headed for the far end.

Hermione didn't even bother to throw the ball this time. Once the six players were in the air, she raised her wand, muttered _"Wingardium Leviosa" _and sent the ball hovering upwards. At the same time, Fleur went to work on the scoreboard, changing the scores back to zero, and replacing "Gryffindor vs. Gryffindor" with "Weasleys vs. World". As the ball came to rest in the centre of the pitch, hovering at hoop-height, Harry huddled together with Seamus and Dean for a tactics talk.

"I don't know about Bill," Dean said, "but I hear Charlie was a demon of a Seeker in his day. He'll be hard to catch."

"Harry's a Seeker too, though. They'll be pretty evenly matched, but Harry's smaller, so he'll be a bit quicker, more agile," Seamus replied, "Harry, you stay on Charlie's tail."

"Alright," Harry nodded, "Ron'll stay back to defend, so Seamus, you do the same, and keep an eye on him. That leaves Dean to mark Bill. The Weasleys are good, I know that, but apart from Ron, they haven't played in a while, so we should be able to get some points in early before they get their eye in."

Finally, they broke apart, and headed for the centre. Dean and Bill hovered in the centre, ready to charge after the Quaffle, as Seamus and Ron stayed a little way behind, while Harry and Charlie stared each other down, both hovering a little higher up than the others, nearer to the stands where Hermione and Fleur were watching. At last, with a flick of her wand, Hermione sent the ball soaring upwards over their heads.

Harry lurched forward, as Charlie did the same, both streaking away from the other and hoping their team would win the toss. In the centre, Bill and Dean were both hurtling forward. Bill was a fair bit bigger, and tougher, but Dean was quicker, and more practised as a Chaser. He ducked around Bill, snatched the Quaffle in one hand, and shot off towards the Weasley goal hoops. Harry did the same, hearing the whistle of Charlie's broom behind his, and listening for any sign that the former Seeker was gaining on him.

Up ahead, Dean reached the scoring area, tried to square up to Ron, then had to dive out of the way as Bill caught up to him. He streaked downwards with the eldest Weasley on his tail, then doubled back and shot upwards again, as Seamus moved up to join them, hovering between Harry and Dean. After a moment's consideration, Dean swung left, avoiding Bill and Ron, and tossed the ball down to Seamus, who grabbed it firmly in both hands. Panicking, Charlie bolted towards Seamus, who spun back, hurled the Quaffle between Charlie's fingers, and sent it flying firmly towards Harry – he grabbed it gratefully, and shot forward. Ron was racing back towards the goal, but he was still feet away as Harry took a surprisingly neat shot at the left-hand hoop, and the fake Quaffle soared through. As the scoreboard changed to "0-10", Harry took off for his own end, flanked by Dean and Seamus.

The game seemed to have shifted from three Chasers a side to two Chasers and a Keeper, with Ron and Seamus hanging back at the hoops. After recovering the Quaffle, Ron climbed back up to the others, and hurled the ball to Charlie, who shot off, climbing rapidly as he went. On instinct, Harry bolted upwards to follow him, as Dean began to mark Bill closely. To Harry's amazement, Charlie kept climbing for about thirty seconds, until the two of them were twice as high as the great towers that ran around the edge of the pitch.

Harry's Seeker eyes, he found, would often notice things other players wouldn't. For example, he now saw Charlie lean forward slightly, his right hand stretching almost to the tip of his broom as he tucked the Quaffle under his left arm. With a jolt, Harry realised he was going to pull the same move he'd used on Dean less than an hour ago, and dropped back slightly, waiting. Sure enough, a few seconds later, Charlie hauled his broom around to the left and darted back, only to find Harry lying in wait. As Charlie shot towards him, unable to steer away, he stuck out a leg, planting his foot under Charlie's left arm and knocking the Quaffle free. Charlie span around, Harry lurched forward, and they were side by side as they tried to recover the ball.

Harry knew Charlie was bigger, and could probably force him out of the way, not to mention taller, with a longer reach. He glanced downwards – about halfway to the ground, Bill and Dean were circling. Deciding to take the risk rather than let Charlie get the Quaffle, he spurred his borrowed Nimbus on as fast as it would go, and leant fully forward, taking both hands off the broom. Charlie was just next to him, and he could see the Weasley brother's arms reaching over too, as he swung out his fist and smashed the Quaffle downwards. The action nearly threw him off his broom and he rolled over in the air, as Charlie came to a sudden stop, with a laugh of surprise.

The two Seekers glanced at each other for a moment, Charlie nodded with approval, and then they turned downward again, diving after the small red orb. It was falling fast, however, and reached the other two Chasers before they caught up to it. For a moment, Harry expected Dean to snatch the Quaffle again, but Bill was bigger and taller, and managed to reach above him to grab the Quaffle, then set off up the field.

Harry changed course, heading for the hoops instead of chasing the Quaffle, as Charlie did the same. Bill, however, had caught Dean off-guard, and was streaking towards the scoring area himself – Harry was still about ten feet up as Bill reached the goal-mouth, watched Seamus dive towards him, and slung the ball over his head and into the central hoop, making it look a bit too easy...

Harry had to hand it to the Weasleys, they were good. He and Dean were slightly quicker on the attack, and reached the scoring area more often, but Ron was a much better Keeper than Seamus, which evened it out somewhat. After an hour of playing, the scoreboard read "90-90", as Bill, Quaffle in hand, signalled for a timeout, and the six players flew over to the centre of the pitch.

"I think we need a break," he muttered. The eldest Weasley certainly looked the most tired of the lot, and was sporting a purple bruise on his jaw where he'd collided with Seamus during one particularly aggressive attempt at goal.

"Aye, I'm beat," Seamus said, nodding. Silently, they all headed for the ground, and for the first time, Harry was aware that the crowd had grown. Hermione and Fleur were still watching, chatting amiably, but the front row they were sat in had filled with bodies. Hagrid was taking up two seats, sat next to a rather proud-looking Professor McGonagall. Neville and Luna were sat, still hand in hand, next to Hermione. Molly Weasley was sat with Hagrid and McGonagall, and seemed to have been cheering for both sides. Finally, and with a sickening jolt, Harry spotted several figures sat on the end, chanting what sounded vaguely like his name – Angelina Johnson, Alicia Spinnet and Katie Bell were cheering, while Oliver Wood sat nervously next to them, looking rather embarrassed.

Harry's feet hit the ground and he dismounted, as the others followed suit around him. Bill staggered towards the stands, looking rather exhausted. Seamus and Dean clapped each other on the back, and then headed for the stands themselves, as Ron doubled over, his cheeks burning a bright scarlet colour. Harry, on the other hand, felt fine, and as Charlie walked over next to him, he got the impression that the other Seeker wasn't tired either.

"Fan club?" Charlie chuckled, pointing at the three cheering Gryffindor girls, and the nervous Wood.

"Old team," Harry replied, and this seemed to be enough explanation for Charlie, who nodded knowingly. Then, he gasped slightly, and looked back at the four figures, "Wait... bloody hell, is that Wood? And Angelina?"

"You know them?" Harry asked, surprised. In hindsight, he supposed Charlie would have been taking his NEWTs when the four had been starting at Hogwarts – Alicia and Katie hadn't joined the team in their first few years, but he supposed Wood and Angelina might have played at the same time as Charlie.

"Yeah, they joined the team in my seventh year. Talented kids. How are they doing?"

"Wood took over as Captain, right after you left, I think. Fanatical, but nice all the same. Angelina kept playing as a Chaser, and got the Captain's spot after Wood left..."

"Wood always wanted to win the cup more than anyone, even in his first year with the team. Did he get it in the end?"

"Yeah," Harry nodded, "in his last year, my third. He was playing for Puddlemere a few years ago; I don't know what he's doing now."

"Good, he deserved a break," Charlie smiled, then turned back to others and shouted, "Come on then! Second half!" Bill groaned, and Ron muttered something obscene that made Hermione slap him on the arm again, scowling. Charlie looked crestfallen, but shrugged. "Well, we'd best call it a day then."

"Actually, Mr Weasley, I have an idea," said a sharp voice from the stands. Professor McGonagall stood, and drew her wand. She murmured something under her breath, and a small, fragile-looking bird erupted from the end of her wand, golden and shimmering, and then took off into the sky. Harry and Charlie looked at each other, and grinned, as McGonagall spoke up again, "Well go on then! Get to it!"

The two Seekers span around, took a few running steps, then leapt onto their brooms and rocketed skywards, as the onlookers cheered and whooped. McGonagall returned to her seat, with the faintest trace of a smug smile.

As he rocketed into the air, it occurred to Harry what this competition would actually be. He and Charlie had both been expert Seekers, they had both been Quidditch Captains for Gryffindor, and as far as Harry knew, they had both won the Quidditch Cup. All in all, they were both legendary players – he still remembered the reverence in McGonagall's voice in his first year, when she'd told Wood that _"Charlie Weasley couldn't have done it" _as if that was an instant indication of his skill. He supposed it was, in a way. He set his mind back to the task at hand, and glanced around for Charlie – the older player was high above, circling over the pitch while Harry darted around beneath, level with the stands.

It took him a few minutes to work out what Charlie was doing – he had always just stayed at normal level and relied on his keen eyes to spot the Snitch, but Charlie was employing an altogether more intelligent tactic. He was hovering high above, looking down on the pitch – while Harry was trying to spot a light, shimmering object against a light, shimmering sky, Charlie was trying to spot it against the solid, verdant green of the pitch. It was a smart tactic, he had to admit. Harry's first thought was to stop him doing it – and he had the perfect idea for that.

Hauling his borrowed Nimbus around, he leant forward and shot off towards the far end of the pitch. A quick glance up confirmed that Charlie had indeed fallen for his bluff, as had the crowd. They had fallen into a hushed silence, watching intently as both Seekers reached the walls at the edge of the pitch and swung away. Quite suddenly, Harry pulled up, and stopped, smirking at Charlie, whose eyes widened as he realised he'd been tricked. He laughed, and shot upwards once more, as the crowd began to chatter, having realised the bluff themselves.

Harry spent the next minute or so patrolling around the walls of the stadium, as Charlie circled above them. The crowd had fallen into a momentary lull as they waited for something to happen, and sure enough, it did. Without the distractions of a full Quidditch game going on around him, Harry had a much easier time looking for the bird, and finally, he spotted it, flitting around the goal hoops at the far end of the pitch. He glanced up at his opponent, who didn't seem to have spotted it yet, and then plunged forward again.

The crowd was hushed once more as Harry rocketed across the pitch. At first, Charlie stayed put, not wanting to fall for another bluff, but, as Harry crossed the centre of the pitch, he seemed to spot the small golden flicker too, and realised that Harry wasn't bluffing this time. He turned earthward, and shot off after the fake Snitch, but Harry had a huge head start.

As he rocketed towards the goal hoops, Harry took one hand off his broom, and reached out as he shot at the "Snitch". At the last second, the bird darted to one side and took off towards the edge of the pitch – Harry missed his grab, but quickly turned and followed it, as it wove a path around the very edge of the pitch, close to the wooden walls of the stadium.

Harry was so focused on the golden bird that he didn't notice a much larger shape barrelling towards him until Charlie hit him with a loud thump. The crowd let out a loud, collective gasp of shock, as Harry sunk a few feet and rolled over, hanging on to his broom as tightly as he could. Charlie himself had speared off and almost crashed headlong into the wall – he steered away just in time to lessen the impact, but still banged his side loudly against the wood, and grunted in pain. Nonetheless, the move had worked, and Harry had lost sight of the little golden bird. Charlie flew past, grinning, as Harry shot off in the opposite direction.

The two Seekers spent another tense few minutes circling the stadium, both shooting glances at each other as they scanned the field for the tell-tale golden shimmer. Harry had to admit, Charlie was even better than he'd expected – he certainly lived up to his reputation.

Just as Harry was thinking these thoughts, he saw it again – a little golden shimmer, just a few feet from the ground, on the side of the pitch nearest to the stands from which the crowd were watching. Unfortunately for Harry, he was on the opposite side of the pitch, and couldn't dive for it without alerting Charlie, who was much closer to the fake Snitch's location. He set his eyes back on Charlie, and circled around, praying the little bird would still be there when he got closer. As he and Charlie circled each other, he felt himself getting closer and closer to the now-silent stands, while Charlie edged further away. Finally, he chanced another glance down. To his relief, the Snitch was still hovering, low to the ground, at the foot of the stands. To his horror, however, Charlie had followed his gaze, and spotted it too. In the same instant, both Seekers turned and shot towards the stands, drawing a few startled cries and cheers from the crowd they were now racing towards. The little bird was still hovering, just a few feet above the wooden irrigation channel that ran around the edge of the pitch.

Harry urged his broom on, and silently prayed he would be able to pull up before he smashed head first into the stands. He was getting closer now, but so was Charlie. They were about ten metres away, then five metres, then one metre – both players took their hands off their brooms and lunged forward, snatching at thin air as the fake Snitch darted downwards, evading them both. They collided, sprang apart, and both nearly slammed into the stands as Harry had feared. Charlie shot out both hands to stop himself crashing, while Harry stuck out his left foot, planting it against the low wall at the bottom of the stands to steady himself.

On closer inspection, both Seekers spotted, with a degree of amazement, that the little bird had darted down into the irrigation channel, and was still shimmering beneath them. Simultaneously, they both pushed off from the wall and dived down into the channel, to a chorus of shrieks and yells from the stands above.

The channel itself was a few metres wide, easily able to accommodate two fliers. The walls and floor were boarded with wood, just like the stadium itself, and there were little openings along the outside wall – rainwater was supposed to run off the pitch, into the channel, and then drain out, presumably into the lake. The very top of the channel sported a series of wooden struts, a few metres apart from each other. These beams were now whistling overhead very quickly as Harry set off down the channel, which was effectively a tunnel, because neither player fancied trying to find a gap in the wooden bars at this speed, and neither was willing to slow down.

Harry and Charlie were side by side, as they shot off down the tunnel. Occasionally, one would pull ahead, or bump shoulders with the other to try and slow him down, but for the most part, they were dead level, as both players focused intently on the small speck of gold ahead of them. Harry didn't bother counting how many laps of the pitch they had made, but, after what seemed like an hour, the Snitch made a move, and darted upwards, right between the bars, and coincidentally right in front of the occupied stands. Harry gulped, and made his mind up quickly. He had to risk it – he didn't need to look over to know Charlie was thinking the exact same thing.

As the fake Snitch shot upwards between the bars, and darted out over the grass, the spectators fell silent. Then, they roared (and in some cases, screamed) as the two players swung upwards just moments later. By some miracle, they both avoided losing their heads to one of the wooden struts and shot upwards, then dived to their left. The fake Snitch was hovering, just a few feet across the pitch, as if it too had stopped to watch the spectacle.

Harry was vaguely aware of Charlie shooting above him – bigger and heavier, he had overshot slightly. Harry swung his entire body to the left, taking both arms off his broom, but he was still going to miss, he realised, with a jolt. In a moment of madness, Harry lunged out. He felt both of his feet relinquish their grip on his broom, and for a split second he was hanging in mid-air, unsupported, and accompanied by gasps from the crowd behind him. As if in slow motion, he flailed his right arm across, felt the lightest of brushes against his palm, then shut his fingers like a vice around the fake Snitch.

Time began to run properly again, and Harry fell just a few feet before he hit the ground, skidding to a halt on the dew-soaked grass, the tiny bird still chirping happily in his hand. A dull roar filled the air as the spectators cheered and clapped, and Harry got shakily to his feet.

Charlie Weasley was back on the ground, and was pacing towards him, holding Neville's broom as well as his own. He was grinning like a madman as he clapped Harry on the back, and Harry began to grin too.

"That was bloody brilliant, Potter," he chuckled.


	5. Chapter 5: Catching Up

**A/N: Right, that's the buffer of five chapters uploaded, updates should be fairly regular depending on how much work I've got to get through. Expect most updates mid-week, or at the weekend. Enjoy! (Oh yeah, and please review! That helps too!)**

**Chapter 5 - Catching Up**

The pale dawn glow had shifted to full-on summer sunlight by the time Harry left the Quidditch pitch. He'd been playing for at least two hours with the Weasleys, Dean and Seamus, and his challenge with Charlie had taken another half an hour, not to mention leaving him as exhausted as if he'd just climbed a mountain. He and Ron were weaving their way back to the castle, chatting about this and that. Hermione had hurried off to speak to Professor McGonagall about something – after all this time, the boys didn't even ask why, knowing they wouldn't get an answer. Everyone else had gone in ahead of them, to get nourishment, or retire to the common rooms. As Harry and Ron walked up the path to the courtyard, Ron went silent, then asked something that Harry supposed must have been burning in his mind for days.

"Harry, don't take this the wrong way or anything, but... how come you're not dead? And while we're at it, why did you go to him at all?" Harry chuckled, and Ron looked slightly awkward.

"It's... kind of a long story. Remember Snape's memories? I watched them, in the Pensieve. It turns out that when Voldemort murdered my mother, he... made another Horcrux. An unintentional one – me," he said, nervously, and Ron's jaw dropped open at the latter statement, before he continued, "Which means I had to die before Voldemort could die, see? That's why I went out to him, why I let him kill me."

"Alright, I understand that, but you said you let him _kill _you. You don't look very dead to me!"

"That's the bit I don't quite understand either. Dumbledore said it was to do with the ritual, the one that brought him back – he used my blood, because he thought it would get rid of the protection from my mum... but it didn't. As far as I know, it acted like... like storage. It didn't matter whose body my blood was in, the magic still applied to me, and only me. So, as long as Voldemort still had his body, with my blood inside it, the protection still existed, and I couldn't die, not at his hands at least. Does that make sense?" Ron nodded, but Harry wasn't certain he really understood. If he was honest, he didn't really understand himself. Then, quite suddenly, Ron came up with possibly the most surprising explanation Harry could have imagined.

"Like a Horcrux."

"What? No, I mean, I didn't split my soul or anything..."

"I know _that_, but think about it. Voldemort stored his soul in other places so that it'd still survive if the original died. You stored your mum's love-magic or whatever it was in another place – in _his _body – so that when the original – you – died the magic still survived." Ron looked at Harry as if looking for approval, and Harry was silent. It was possibly the smartest thing Harry had ever heard him say, and, scarily, it made sense.

"Yeah, you might have a point there..."

"Always the tone of surprise," Ron said, chuckling, and then continued, "But how did you trick him? Alright, you survived the Killing Curse – again – but you'd think he might _notice_ you were still breathing. What if he'd cursed you?"

"He did. He used the Cruciatus Curse, but I just didn't feel anything," Harry stated, rather matter-of-factly, as Ron gaped again.

"But didn't he check?" he persisted, "Look for a pulse or something?" Harry steeled himself, and prepared to drop his largest bombshell.

"It crossed his mind... I suppose the real answer is, Malfoy saved me," he said, and grinned as Ron's jaw dropped to its widest gape yet.

"Draco?" he spluttered.

"No, his mum. She came over to check if I was really dead, but when she knelt down, she just asked me if Draco was still alive, in the castle. I told her that he was, and she just turned around and said I was dead. I think she knew the only way she'd be able to come and find Draco was if Voldemort marched up to castle in victory."

Ron continued to stare at him for a few moments, then looked away, shaking his head. Harry knew the idea of a _Malfoy _saving him would have surprised Ron, and smiled to himself. They were approaching the courtyard when Harry's mind came up with a question of its own, something he'd been meaning to ask since he talked to the Weasleys in the hospital wing. He stopped dead in his tracks, and Ron turned around, looking surprised.

"Ron," Harry said, calmly, "when we were up in the hospital wing... was it just me, or did your mum go a bit pale when you mentioned Dolohov?"

"Ah," Ron replied, in a low mutter, as if fearing his mother was about to pounce out of the shadows and berate him for saying this, then continued, "Dolohov... well, Dolohov killed her brothers." Harry was taken aback at how matter-of-factly he said this, and it was his turn to stare at Ron, his jaw hanging open.

"What? Killed her- well it's no wonder she hates the guy!"

"I don't know if it's just hate, I think its fear, too. But yeah, that's the reason. Ever heard of Fabian and Gideon Prewett?" Harry's mind raced – he hadn't heard of Fabian and Gideon, but something Hagrid had told him many years ago flooded back to him, as clear as the day he'd heard it:

"_No one ever lived after he decided ter kill 'em, no one except you, an' he'd killed some o' the best witches an' wizards of the age — the McKinnons, the Bones, the Prewetts…"_

"They were mum's brothers. Twins. She always says they were like Fred and George..." Ron trailed off slightly at the mention of his lost brother, but then continued, "Joined the Order as soon as they were of age, started fighting You-Know-Who and the Death Eaters. They were pretty good at it, too, I think. It sounds morbid to say it out loud, but it took five Death Eaters to kill them in the end, and I'm bloody proud of that."

True to his word, Ron was smiling with pride as he said it, and Harry couldn't help feeling a lot of respect for the Prewett twins. Fighting off _five _Death Eaters at once was incredible, especially if they were all as strong as Dolohov, who he knew to be one of the toughest.

"So Dolohov was one of the five? That's why she hates him?" Harry said, cautiously.

"Yeah, but not just that. Fabian and Gideon killed two of the Death Eaters themselves in that fight, two of them were hunted down and killed by Aurors, but one escaped entirely – that was Dolohov. That's why mum hates him so much, and fears him – he got away with killing her brothers, and he's still out there, able to do it again..." This time, Ron looked much more sombre, as if he couldn't help admitting his mum had a point. Harry imagined Molly's enmity for Dolohov was much the same as Neville's for Bellatrix.

"For what it's worth, I'm sorry."

"Don't be, it's not like it's your fault. It isn't anyone's but the Death Eaters. Besides, like I said, we're proud of them. They went out fighting, like they wanted to. Now, let's get back to the common room before this gets any more morbid," he chuckled, and Harry grinned.

Wait, why was he grinning? Ron had just told him how his uncles had been brutally murdered, and now they were both grinning? It struck Harry that everyone was a lot happier than he'd have imagined in the aftermath of so many losses. For everyone except a handful of people (like George), it seemed the horrors they had seen were overwhelmed by the knowledge that those horrors were _over_. What Harry didn't realise at the time was that the end of the First Wizarding War was almost exactly the same. Subconsciously, people wanted to be happy, not sad, so their joy at the war's end overcame their sorrow at the war itself. He was still pondering this as they approached the Fat Lady's portrait, Ron muttered his name, and the entrance to Gryffindor common room was revealed as usual.

As Harry stepped into the room, he was greeted with a merry scene that backed up his theory. George was conspicuously absent, but everyone else seemed to be in good cheer. Seamus and Dean had just appeared at the foot of the stairs to the dormitories, and seemed to be having a friendly argument about football – Dean's football, now back to its usual white, was still in his hands, as Seamus muttered something about the stupidity of the offside rule. Charlie Weasley was sat by the fire with Wood, Angelina, Alicia and Katie, and they too seemed to be discussing Quidditch, as the old captain caught up with his former team-mates. Bill and Fleur were tucked away in the far corner, cuddled up on one of the scarlet sofas, and sipping at two glasses of firewhiskey, which seemed to be making Fleur steadily more and more giddy. Hermione had somehow returned to the common room before them, and was chatting to a red-haired girl, as – Harry froze, and looked back at the red-haired girl. She looked back at him, and her jaw dropped.

Very deliberately, Ginny Weasley began to stride across the common room, staring at Harry. Ron suddenly decided he would be safer elsewhere, and scurried off to talk to Hermione, who was watching Harry and Ginny with a nervous smile.

Finally, she stopped, standing in front of Harry with her head on one side, staring at him as if she thought she might be hallucinating.

"I'm real, just in case you were wondering," he said, trying to look casual when he was actually trembling inside. Ginny's brow furrowed, and she seemed to make up her mind.

_SLAP!_

Ginny's hand was still shaking as Harry recoiled, his cheek stinging and burning in equal measure. Hermione and Ron were both wide-eyed with shock, and everyone in the common room had turned to look, as Harry yelled.

"WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT FOR?" he roared, but Ginny barely blinked, just screamed back.

"THAT WAS FOR PRETENDING TO BE DEAD, YOU STUPID GIT!"

The two of them were stood, rooted to the spot, both breathing heavily and staring at the other. Ginny's face was flushed with an angry and rather embarrassed red that almost matched her hair. Harry's cheek was equally red where she'd slapped him, as he glared at her. There was an awkward silence from the two of them, and from everyone else in the room. Still wild-eyed and red-faced, Ginny suddenly shut her eyes, and took a deep breath.

A moment later, she had flung herself at Harry, and was kissing him harder than she ever had before. The common room exploded – Bill and Charlie Weasley stared at each other, jaws hanging open with shock, and Fleur smiled, rather smugly, as if she'd predicted it from the start – in hindsight, she probably had. Wood and the girls were stunned for a moment, and then exploded into a mixture of laughter and cheering. Above everyone else, Seamus was cheering madly, and Harry was rather relieved to hear Dean cheering with him in what could otherwise have been a very awkward moment for him. Ron was staring at them, not sure whether to be jubilant or angry, as Hermione cuddled into his shoulder, smiling gently at Harry and Ginny.

Finally, they broke apart, and both took a gasp for air. Ginny's face was still scarlet, but she was laughing now, and looked on the verge of crying as she swung her arms around his neck and pulled him into a tight hug. Harry placed one hand on her back, and stroked her hair with the other, trying to stop himself from yelling in relief and ecstasy, whilst everything around him seemed to move in slow motion. As the common room continued to throb with noise, Harry heard her whisper something in his ear, and, despite the din, heard every word in perfect clarity:

"And that was for not _staying_ dead..."


	6. Chapter 6: The Elder Wand

**A/N: This... is a bit of a wordy chapter.  
><strong>

**Chapter 6 - The Elder Wand**

"Ron, he's your best friend!"

"And she's my little sister!"

The common room was still buzzing with noise. After half of Gryffindor had seen Harry and Ginny kissing – again – the embarrassed pair had slipped out of the portrait hole and disappeared. Now, Ron and Hermione were on one of the many sofas that littered the common room, with Hermione's head resting in Ron's lap. It seemed almost impossible for a couple to be arguing in what most would see as a romantic position, but they still managed it.

Around them, most people's conversations had turned to Harry and Ginny. Bill seemed to be asking Fleur how long she'd known, and Charlie was being teased incessantly by Angelina, Alicia and Katie, but was wearing a roguish grin nonetheless, as if he couldn't be happier about it. Seamus was in the middle of explaining everything very loudly to Neville, who had just re-entered the common room, and was smiling almost proudly at the news.

"Okay, look at it this way," Hermione reasoned, "I know she's your sister, and you're protective of her, but she's Bill's sister too, and Charlie's. Do _they_ look like they have a problem with it?"

"Well, no, but... it's the principal of the thing, isn't it?"

"No, Ron, it's not! He's your _best friend_; shouldn't you be happy that she chose him? _You_ did!"

"Hang on, what d'you mean _'I did'_?"

"Oh for- Ron, refresh my memory, why are you friends with Harry?"

"Well, he's a good mate, isn't he? He didn't look down on me for being poor; he's always stuck up for me and my family. He's a good laugh..." Ron trailed off, and started glaring at Hermione as he realised he'd just proved her right.

"See? He's brave, he's kind, he's loyal. Who do you think could be _better _for Ginny than him?"

"I..."

"Alright, let me put it another way. Has Ginny been smitten with him ever since she met him?"

"Well, yeah, but-"

"And has Harry ever done anything to betray you?"

"Well, no, but-"

"See! They're made for each other, and who the hell are you to get in the way of that?" she said indignantly. Ron glowered at her, and she closed her eyes, taking a deep breath to calm herself. He was still muttering under his breath as she opened her eyes again.

"I still don't see what your problem with all this is," Hermione murmured, looking up at Ron, who was red in the face.

"The _problem_ is that he just started snogging my sister in front of everyone!"

"And? He did that last year too, remember? After the Quidditch Cup?"

"_Why_ would he just start snogging her like that?"

"For goodness' sake, Ron," she huffed, "Ginny pretty much jumped on him!"

"So? He didn't exactly stop her, did he?"

"Oh, so if I walked up to you and started snogging _your _brains out, you'd have stopped for Harry's sake?" Ron blushed scarlet as she said this, and she smiled inwardly – she _knew _that would get to him.

"Well, I- maybe, but-"

"_Maybe?_" she said indignantly, sitting upright and turning to face Ron, suddenly glaring as fiercely as he was.

"It's not the same!" Ron burst out, trying to change the subject, "_You're_ not Harry's sister!"

"I'm as good as," she said, quietly but angrily, "and you're as good as his brother, you've both said it. So what's the problem? Give it a few years and you _will _be brothers, if he marries her."

"MARRIES HER?" Ron choked, and Hermione realised she _probably _shouldn't have said that. Ron looked close to a nervous breakdown as he continued to splutter incoherently at the thought – cautiously, with her own heart pounding quite heavily, she shuffled closer to him, and spoke again.

"Ronald Bilius Weasley," she murmured, "stop being a prat and come here!"

With that, she lunged at him, and there was a stunned silence from the nearby Gryffindors – Charlie gaped at the sight, and punched Wood rather hard when he muttered something along the lines of _"Two Weasleys in one lifetime, bloody hell"_.

* * *

><p>By the time Harry and Ginny returned, it was almost midday. They had spent a couple of hours just wandering the grounds, talking about anything and everything – mostly, they discussed the last year, with Harry describing the Horcrux hunt, and Ginny detailing school life under Snape and the Carrows. Ginny had, like Ron, been shocked and amazed by the details of Harry's non-death, and hung on his every word as he recalled the things Dumbledore had told him. For his part, he was appalled at her tales of the Carrows – he knew they had been bad, but he was aghast when she told him she had been subjected to the Cruciatus Curse in "detention", and muttered <em>"Well, I'm bloody glad I cast it on Amycus now"<em>. That had led to a whole new conversation, with Ginny grinning as Harry described Amycus Carrow being hurled into the wall of the Ravenclaw Common Room by his invisible self.

When they finally got back to the Gryffindor common room, it was almost deserted. Harry supposed everyone had gone down for lunch in the Great Hall. The only people remaining were Neville, Dean and Seamus, who were making for the portrait hole as Harry and Ginny entered. Seamus cheered, and clapped Harry on the back.

"Erm... thanks, Seamus. Have you seen Ron and Hermione?"

"Oh aye, we've seen 'em," Seamus smirked, "they're in her dormitory. Restin' up." He laughed, and headed for the portrait hole once more. Neville smiled at the couple and followed, as Dean shot Harry a wink. Once again, he was filled with relief – Dean had always stuck by him, even when the rest of the school thought he was either nuts or lying, and he would have hated to have fallen out with him after all that...

Harry shook his head as Ginny nudged him, and nodded towards the stairs. Apparently her curiosity couldn't be denied this chance. Rather cautiously, and wondering what Seamus meant by _"Resting"_, Harry followed her up the steps himself. It suddenly occurred to him that in their fifth year, the charmed staircase had turned into a slide when Ron unwittingly tried to climb it, but it wasn't doing anything of the sort now, possibly, he thought, because Ginny was with him, and was allowed to be up here. As she reached Hermione's dormitory, Ginny opened the door, and stepped inside. Almost instantly, she leapt back into the corridor, white-faced, and with eyes bulging. Harry watched in amazement, as she sprinted past him, heading for the common room. A moment later, there was a strangled cry from the doorway.

"GINNY!" Ron roared, red in the face. Harry struggled not to laugh – Ron was bare-chested, wearing only his jeans, having mysteriously "lost" his shirt. He ignored Harry, and charged after Ginny. He heard a vague thump downstairs, and Hermione appeared at the door, looking concerned. She was pulling Ron's missing shirt around her shoulders, and blushing. Harry smirked.

"Oh, shut up," she murmured, still smiling blissfully. Harry shook his head, and descended the stairs to the common room, to find Ron on one side of one of the sofas, and Ginny on the other, just out of her brother's reach as she tried to figure out a way of escaping. At this sight, Harry broke down, and doubled over, laughing so hard his chest began to hurt beneath his bandages. Ginny followed suit, descending into a fit of giggles, as Ron seized his chance, vaulted clumsily over the sofa and grabbed his little sister, slinging her over his shoulder and carrying her over to the portrait hole, before forcibly ejecting her from the common room. He turned and glared at Harry, too.

"Alright, alright, I'm going," Harry said, raising his hands in mock surrender, as he made for the exit. When he got out, Ginny was waiting, still giggling, and smirking. Smiling, Harry took her hand, and they headed off to lunch.

* * *

><p>Back up in the dormitory, Hermione was smiling warmly, as Ron returned, fuming.<p>

"Calm down, Ron. Kissing isn't illegal, you know."

"Hermione, you've _met _my mum," Ron said, and left it at that.

"She won't say anything to them," Hermione replied, wearily, as she retrieved her top from the end of the bed.

"How do you know she won't?" Ron demanded, still in a rather grumpy tone of voice, as she handed him his shirt back, and he pulled it over shoulders.

"Because she'll find it much more fun to blackmail you over this," she said sweetly, and smiled a painfully innocent, disarming smile at him. Ron groaned. Hermione just grabbed his arm, dragging him towards the door, and kissing him again as they went.

* * *

><p>Harry was already half way through a plateful of food when Ron and Hermione finally arrived in the Great Hall. He and Ginny glanced at each other, and smirked.<p>

"Finally... we thought you'd gone back for Round Two," Ginny teased, and for a moment Ron looked murderous as he picked up his fork. Hermione, however, smiled shyly, and placed a calming hand on Ron's shoulder. He scowled at Ginny – who started laughing even more as he did – and started heaping food onto his plate with his usual gusto.

After half an hour, Harry, Ginny and Hermione had all finished, and were watching, open-mouthed, as Ron shovelled down a third helping of roast beef. Hermione and Ginny exchanged exasperated looks, as Ron, oblivious, continued to empty his plate. He was interrupted by a loud cough from the top table, as Professor McGonagall stood, looking out over the few dozen students who had stayed at Hogwarts after the battle.

"We have all," she began, "been through a difficult year. The last few days in particular have hit many of us very hard. But this is not a time to look backwards; this is a time to look forwards, to the future. I know that some of you" – here, Harry could have sworn she looked directly at him and Hermione – "have no homes to return to this summer, and some of you may simply wish for an escape. As a great, great man once said, help will always be given at Hogwarts to those who ask for it. The other professors and I will be here over the summer, putting the school back in order for next year, so any students who require sanctuary at Hogwarts will be more than welcome. On the subject of next year... I will not deny, there are many things that need fixing after the last year's events. We will be allowing any seventh years who missed this year, for whatever reason, to retake it, and we will be running extra classes next year to make up for the failings of _certain_ _subjects_ under the Carrows."

As soon as McGonagall mentioned retaking the seventh year, Harry and Ron looked at Hermione. Suddenly, they both had an idea what she'd gone to talk to McGonagall about earlier. Before they could ask her, McGonagall continued:

"There is also onemore matter. After Professor Snape's unfortunate departure" – at this, Harry realised, with a guilty pang, that he had yet to describe Snape's memories (and his true loyalty) to anyone – "the school needs a new Head. The professors of the school have conferred with the remaining governors, and have settled on a suitable candidate." A hush fell across the hall, but Harry had a feeling he knew who the "suitable candidate" was already.

"I can announce, with great pleasure," McGonagall continued, smiling, "that _I _will be taking up the position of Headmistress next year."

There was a momentary pause, before the Gryffindor table exploded. Harry stood up with everyone else and cheered, as McGonagall, looking rather embarrassed, began to smile even more widely, and he could swear there were tears forming in her eyes. After about a minute, the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw tables were clapping too, as were the staff on the top table, but none of them could match the Gryffindors at present. There was an almighty shriek as someone (as usual, Harry suspected Seamus) sent a hissing red spark into the air, which burst into a scarlet effigy of the Gryffindor lion over their heads, and let out a huge roar, as the entire hall was bathed in red light.

Finally, McGonagall – who was still beaming with pride as she watched her cheering house – dissipated the lion with a wave of her wand.

"Well, go on then – you're all young and it's a beautiful day, so enjoy it, why don't you?" Harry got up, and was planning on doing just that, as everyone else began to filter out of the hall, when McGonagall spoke up again, a bit more quietly this time, "Mr Potter? Could I have a word?"

Harry quickly glanced at Ginny, who smiled, and mouthed _"I'll see you later" _before scampering off with everyone else. Harry turned around and nodded wordlessly at McGonagall, who had descended from the staff table, and beckoned for him to follow as she swept out of the doors after the students. They were both silent as they walked, until they reached a familiar stone gargoyle. McGonagall stood proudly in front of it, and murmured _"Priori Incantatem"_. The gargoyle, which appeared to have lost an ear, swung aside, and they stepped into Dumbledore's old office.

The first thing that struck Harry was the absence of Fawkes – the phoenix's golden perch still stood in a corner, but it looked forlorn and slightly useless without the great firebird's presence. The Sorting Hat was resting on the headmaster's desk, still dusty and worn, next to Godric Gryffindor's sword, and murmured sleepily as they entered. McGonagall strode to the back of the room, and was focused very intensely on something on the back wall, as Harry waited at the desk. To his surprise, the hat gave another tired murmur, and Harry heard his name.

"Harry Potter," it wheezed, and Harry moved a little closer, his curiosity rising, "I always said you'd have done well in Slytherin... but, it seems I stand corrected. Because you did very, _very_ well in Gryffindor, didn't you?"

With that, the hat was silent once more. Harry looked over Godric Gryffindor's sword – was he imagining it, or was there a very faint, dark line twisting around the blade, like a vine? Nagini's blood, maybe? Had it been absorbed into the sword like the basilisk's? Before he could ponder any further, he caught a few of McGonagall's words, drifting over from the back of the room.

"Are you quite sure? It's a grave choice for a boy to make..."

"Minerva, I am certain," said an old, familiar voice, "Harry will not fail now."

Harry craned his neck around McGonagall's figure, and realisation dawned, as the twinkling blue eyes of Albus Dumbledore stared back. His portrait displayed a grand, rich-looking room, with a high-backed, almost throne-like chair, and a roaring fire. Dumbledore himself was stood at the front of the scene, hands behind his back, smiling proudly.

"Ah," he said, quietly, "Harry. How very good to see you."

"Professor," Harry said, simply.

"As I was saying to Minerva, with Tom Riddle dead, there is one more matter that must be seen to. I think you may have guessed what it is."

"I... I think so, sir," he murmured. Sure enough, McGonagall – who still looked rather tense about the whole thing – walked over to the desk, reached into the top drawer, and drew out a pale wand. In truth, Harry had been considering this choice even before the battle. Professor McGonagall set the wand down on the desk, and pushed it towards Harry.

"Fifteen inches, body of ellhorn, core of thestral hair. The Elder Wand," Dumbledore smiled, as McGonagall sighed.

"Albus seems determined that you be the one to make this choice, perhaps _one _of you could explain why?"

"Well," Harry began, nervously, and then realised he needed to ask something else entirely before he could even _begin _to explain, and said, "has Professor Dumbledore told you about Sna- about _Professor _Snape?" McGonagall looked shocked and slightly taken aback, and Harry could have sworn there was an uncharacteristic tear in her eye.

"Yes," she said, weakly, "Albus told me everything yesterday. If I have one regret, it is how I misjudged that poor man... But more to the point, Potter, how on earth do _you_ know? Professor Dumbledore said he hadn't told you!" Before Harry could reply, Dumbledore's kindly voice echoed from the back of the room.

"The Pensieve," he said wisely, "am I right, Harry?"

"Snape gave us his memories, just before he died," Harry said, nodding.

"But I fail to see," McGonagall said, still sounding rather strangled, "what this has to do with the wand?" Harry shared a glance with Dumbledore's portrait, which nodded to him, telling him to explain.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, Professor Dumbledore, but when you arranged for Snape to kill you, it wasn't just to give you a quick death, or to spare Draco. If you _allowed _Snape to kill you, the wand wouldn't see it as a defeat. It only changes allegiance if a wizard is defeated against his will. You told me yourself, you took the wand to protect others from it. If Snape killed you, but the wand's allegiance remained to you, then Snape would have made sure the Elder Wand's line of owners ended there."

"The trail of blood would end with me," Dumbledore murmured sadly.

"But when it actually happened," Harry continued, "Draco got to you before Snape, and disarmed you against your will. Which would mean the wand's allegiance shifted to him, even if he didn't realise it," Harry said nervously. He had spent weeks of his Horcrux hunt considering this, and gradually working it out, but he still wasn't sure he'd got it all right, as he continued, "Then Voldemort robbed your tomb for the wand. But, when it didn't work for him, he thought Snape was the wand's master, so he killed Snape."

"Indeed. The wand's owners have been some of the most famous and powerful wizards in history, but they always carried the misconception that only murder could win the wand, a delusion Lord Voldemort shared. Antioch Peverell was killed in his sleep for the wand, that much is true, but the wand is very powerful, and thus very fickle. Being disarmed or stunned is enough of a defeat for it to abandon you. It is a curious thing indeed that Gellert Grindelwald, the darkest wizard of his age, was one of the few men to have won the wand without killing its former owner – he stunned Gregorovitch in his workshop and stole the wand without a drop of blood spilt..."

As Dumbledore trailed off, McGonagall was looking anxiously between the two of them, as if wondering when Harry's role in the matter would be explained. Dumbledore seemed lost in his musings, so Harry continued.

"He killed Snape for the wand, but didn't realise that Draco was the real master. And then, a few months ago, when we were taken to Malfoy Manor, I disarmed Draco. He wasn't using the Elder Wand, but I guess it could sense that he'd been defeated?" Dumbledore nodded sagely, and Harry went on, "So its allegiance switched to me. I assume that's why I didn't feel anything when Voldemort used the Cruciatus Curse on me?"

"The wand's loyalty, though brief, is strong. It refused to harm its true owner; particularly in the hands of one he hated so. And that, Harry, leaves the wand's fate to you. I must say, I'm impressed with how much you managed to work out."

"Well, it was mostly Hermione," Harry admitted, and then felt his stomach drop with a sudden realisation. He stared blankly ahead, and McGonagall looked concerned. Finally, he voiced his fears, "Professor... after I killed Voldemort... Dolohov knocked me out! So, doesn't that mean he's...?" Harry trailed off, his heart thumping against his ribs in panic.

"No," Dumbledore said, firmly.

"But you said it was fickle, that it would abandon you at the slightest defeat, and-"

"Harry, the wand will not pass to Dolohov. He attacked you, and some might say defeated you, that much is true. However, from what I have been told" – he looked in Professor McGonagall's direction as he spoke – "you were not wielding the wand, or any wand, at the time, and besides-"

"But you said Peverell was murdered in his sleep, he wasn't wielding it either!"

"Harry!" Dumbledore said, looking rather ruffled, as Harry fell silent and let him speak, "The wand is fickle, but is not stupid. It was made by Antioch Peverell to respect strength – to respect _his _strength, as he and his brothers attempted to master Death itself. The wand carries Antioch's same definition of strength, the same definition all three brothers believed – that a Master of Death is the strongest man alive" – Harry's ears were ringing now; was Dumbledore saying what he thought he was? – "and you, Harry Potter, are a Master of Death."

"WHAT?" cried McGonagall, and Harry had gone very quiet, as Dumbledore continued.

"Let me put it another way. Antioch believed he had the ability to master death. When he crafted the wand, he made it loyal to strength and to the mastery of death, believing that it would make it loyal to _him_. But, as the Tale of the Three Brothers tells us – if Miss Granger managed to translate it, as I assume she did – neither Antioch nor Cadmus Peverell were true Masters of Death because they sought to conquer and defy death. Thus, the wand was willing to change hands, because it was seeking the very thing Antioch had intended it to seek – a _true _Master of Death. Knowing this, I foolishly believed that it might find its final master in me – I have, at various points, possessed all three of the Hallows, but even I had not mastered death, as my current situation shows quite amply," Dumbledore waved a hand at the painting's frame, and Harry couldn't help stifling a laugh, before McGonagall interjected.

"But what makes Harry different, if you had all three and it still didn't work for you?"

"Well, for a start, I never owned all three at any one time – I had already given the Cloak of Invisibility to Harry by the time I acquired the Resurrection Stone. Harry, on the other hand, had all three when he went into the forest. He owned the Cloak, he held the Stone, and even if he didn't possess the Wand, he did have its allegiance. But, I must admit that not even _that _makes him a Master of Death. And so, we must return to the Three Brothers..."

"Ignotus Peverell," Harry murmured. His panic had faded, and he had a feeling he knew what Dumbledore was going to say – the same thing he had said in the ethereal King's Cross.

"Indeed. Beedle's story notes that only the third brother – Ignotus Peverell, in reality – truly mastered Death, as he sought to. His brothers sought to defy death, and hoarded the Hallows, only to lose them shortly afterwards, along with their lives. By contrast, Ignotus was modest with his own gift. He never advertised its virtues, or his genius for having made such a wondrous thing. He lived to an old age, and then passed the cloak to his son. As the tale puts it, he greeted Death like an old friend, and they went off as _equals_. _That_, my dear Minerva, is what makes Harry a true Master of Death, like Ignotus. Not only did he collect all three Hallows, he also accepted death. The Hallows grant tremendous power of their own to those who use them, but it takes a far greater _strength_ to refuse them, to lay them aside despite being their master, and to go willingly to your death. That is why Ignotus was the strongest of the Peverell brothers, and that is why the Elder Wand knows Harry to be far stronger than any other master it could have found. At last, the wand has found someone it considers worthy of its power. And that makes the choice yours."

Harry was staring very hard at the wand. His head was spinning by the time Dumbledore finished speaking, and his throat suddenly felt very dry. He reached out, and grasped the wand between his fingertips. It was an ornate piece of craftsmanship – seeing it for the first time, Harry saw carvings in the pale wood, depicting strings of elderberries, and ancient runes. It was an unusually long wand, and seemed to flow very easily, as if weighted. Quite suddenly, an idea burned in his mind. He had decided, ever since Hermione worked out he was the wand's master, if he was honest, that he didn't want it. But maybe, just maybe...

McGonagall was staring at him in confusion as he rummaged around in his pocket. He'd been carrying his old wand around out of denial, mostly, just keeping it close as a reminder – a reminder of what, he wasn't quite sure. Now, he pulled the three large pieces out, and scattered them onto the desk, still holding the Elder Wand. McGonagall was still looking confused, but Dumbledore's expression had changed from one of curiosity to a gentle smile, as Harry waved the Elder Wand across the shattered pieces.

"_Reparo."_

There was a moment's silence, and Harry suddenly felt very silly. Repairing wands was _impossible_, he told himself. The wand might be good, but it couldn't do the impossible. He was just about to mutter that he didn't know what he was thinking when there was a small cracking noise. He looked down, and stared in amazement as the fragments of his old wand began, very slowly, to slither across the desk as if compelled by an unseen hand. They came together, and his wand hovered above the desk slightly, the cracks forming ugly black scars across its surface. With another cracking noise, the wood began, much to their surprise, to knit back together in a tight mesh, and Harry thought he could see a little sparkle of orange for a brief second as the core became whole again. Then, just as quickly, the cracks were gone, and his wand clattered to the desk.

"It actually worked," McGonagall gasped, still open-mouthed. Harry was speechless – he set the Elder Wand down, and grabbed his own wand back, before he finally found some words.

"The Elder Wand... the Elder Wand can go back to your tomb," he said, looking at Dumbledore, who nodded approvingly, "you said it won't change its allegiance. I can live my life, die a natural death, and the wand's powers will die with me."

"Very wise and very noble," Dumbledore mused, "I expected nothing less from you, Harry."

Harry grinned and McGonagall nodded slowly, as if she approved of the decision. Finally, she spoke up.

"Well, now that's settled, I shan't keep you. You can go back to Miss Weasley" – Harry started to blush slightly – "although... Potter? There _is _still the matter of next year; I've been meaning to discuss it with you..."

"I've thought about it a bit," Harry admitted, "and I suppose I'll have to, if I want to become an Auror... but I don't know if I can face a normal school year after everything that's happened. It would be too... well, _normal_."

"I doubt you could ever have a year at Hogwarts that could be described as _normal_, Potter," she said, smiling slightly, "although in any case, you should probably speak to Shacklebolt before you decide, he has a rather interesting proposition for you. Now, off you go."

Harry turned, slipping his wand into his shirt pocket, and made for the door.

"And... Harry?" McGonagall called, as he reached the door.

"Yes, Professor?"

"Do be careful..."


	7. Chapter 7: Explanations

**Chapter 7 - Explanations**

Harry was shocked to find that almost an hour had passed by the time he got back to the Gryffindor common room. His head was spinning with the enormity of what he had just done, and with the sheer length of Dumbledore's musings, as he stepped through the portrait hole.

The common room was almost empty – Harry was pleasantly surprised to find Ginny, Ron and Hermione waiting for him, but apart from them the only occupants were Bill and Charlie, who were engrossed in earnest conversation in the corner, and George, who was once more slumped in an armchair, looking blankly into the fire and sipping at a bottle of firewhiskey.

As Harry approached, Ginny was smiling brightly, while Ron and Hermione looked nervously at him. Finally, it was Hermione who spoke up.

"So, what did McGonagall want?"

"Oh, right. Can we, err... can we talk about it somewhere else?" Harry asked, nodding towards George, who he didn't really want to disturb with his talk of Snape, and the Elder Wand.

"Yes, my dormitory. Lavender and Parvati both went home, so I've got it to myself.

"We noticed," said Harry and Ginny in unison, smirking at Ron, who quickly turned a shocking shade of magenta, as Harry continued, "that's perfect, but one thing's bugging me. How come we could get into them? Aren't they meant to be charmed so we can't get up there?"

"Funny you should say that... I read up on it in Hogwarts: A History-"

"_What _a surprise," Ron cried, as Hermione scowled at him, and continued.

"I'm not sure about the other founders, but Gryffindor only wanted to charm the stairs against male _students_. The charm has no effect once you're of age, which you two both are."

"Sounds like old Godric knew teenagers a lot better than we thought, and wanted to give us lovebirds a helping hand," Ron said, smirking. Hermione scowled at him almost pityingly.

"You've got _such _a one-track mind, Ronald. Personally, I think it was a security thing, so that male teachers and parents could get up to the dorms in an emergency."

"Hermione, please, just stop. You're making _Godric Gryffindor _sound like Percy," he said, rolling his eyes. She shook her head, and beckoned for Ginny and Harry – who was awestruck at how the two "lovebirds" could still bicker so much – to follow her, as she headed for the stairs. When they reached Hermione's dorm, they slipped inside, and Harry sat down on one of the beds, opposite Ron and Hermione, as Ginny sprang up onto the bed next to him, and sat cross-legged as Crookshanks purred and curled up by her knee.

Harry didn't know how long he spent telling them everything that had been said in Dumbledore's old office, and explaining it a second time, mostly for Ron's aid. However, he glossed over the separate issue of Snape, merely saying that "Snape was on our side" and deciding to explain that afterwards. Finally, however, as Hermione sat holding Harry's newly-repaired wand, and muttering her astonishment at it, Ron broached the question again.

"You said Snape was on our side, but the greasy git murdered Dumbledore, didn't he?" Harry sighed – this was probably going to be the hardest bit to explain, not least because they'd all spent the last year (or, in Harry and Ron's case, the last _seven _years) hating Snape's guts.

"Sort of," he said, finally settling on the cryptic answer as he considered how he could explain the whole situation.

"What d'you mean, sort of?"

"He killed him, but it wasn't murder. Dumbledore planned the whole thing, even _told _Snape to do it" – Harry ploughed on, before any of his three incredulous friends could interrupt with more questions – "do you remember when I told you about the Gaunt ring?"

"It was a Horcrux, right?" Ron said, tentatively.

"Yeah. But, it had the Resurrection Stone set in it, too. The one Cadmus Peverell made, or found, or however he got it... Dumbledore's always had regrets about his family, so he tried to use the Stone to speak to them, and forgot that Voldemort would have put protections on the Horcrux."

"He didn't put it on?" Hermione gasped, rather incredulously. Harry nodded, and continued.

"Exactly. Remember how his hand went black over the year? That was the curse from the ring. Snape brewed a potion for him, to keep it at bay, but he still only had a year before he'd die, and a painful death, at that. He knew Voldemort had ordered Malfoy to kill him, and that Malfoy would probably be killed if he failed or backed out, so he asked Snape to help Malfoy, and to kill him himself."

"A _coup de grâce,_" Hermione murmured, sadly.

"You've been talking to Fleur too much," Ron chuckled, and she smiled weakly.

"It means 'blow of mercy' in French," she continued, then looked rather sheepish, and looked down at her feet.

"Well... yeah. That was the idea. If Snape killed Dumbledore for merciful reasons, his soul wouldn't affected, Malfoy's would be spared, Dumbledore would get a quick, painless death, and the Elder Wand would die with him. But then Draco disarmed him and... well, I've told you that much already."

"Alright, we get that bit, mate," Ron said, "what I don't understand is why Snape was on our side? He was a Death Eater, wasn't he? I mean, he was working with the Carrows!"

"Yeah, and he tried to hinder them as much as possible, according to his memories," Harry added, then went on, "He was working as a double agent for Dumbledore. He pretended to be spying on Dumbledore for Voldemort, when it was really the other way round..."

"_Why_, though?" Ron persisted, and Harry went quiet. This was the bit Harry had dreaded saying most, not so much because of their reactions, but because of his own. It was difficult for him to even say the words.

"He did it for my mum," he croaked. Ron looked dumbfounded, and looked like he was about to push the matter, when Hermione interrupted him. Ginny too was looking concerned as she watched Harry's shaky expression.

"Harry, this is obviously pretty personal. You don't have to-"

"No, it's fine," he insisted, "you need to know, anyway. I owe Snape that much, to tell people the truth about him. He knew my mum before they came to Hogwarts; they lived near each other when they were kids, and he told her all about magic, and Hogwarts, and, well, everything... As far as I know, they were best friends for their first few years, even when he got sorted into Slytherin. He hated my dad, and Sirius, and even Lupin, for being their friend, but he stayed friends with her and" – Harry was going slightly croaky again – "well... he loved her. Then, they fell out in their fifth year, because he was getting into the Dark Arts, and she never spoke to him again. But he still loved her. He always did, right until the day he died. He was the one who told Voldemort about the prophecy, when he was a Death Eater, but as soon as he realised it made my mum a target, he went to Dumbledore, and begged him to protect her..."

Harry went quiet again, and the two girls looked a bit concerned. Personally, however, he thought it felt good. He'd expected it to feel wrong, talking about Snape's love for his mother, but in a way it was liberating to finally share his burden with others, to know that someone else knew the truth about him.

"He got Dumbledore to protect them, in exchange for becoming a spy," Harry said, with a note of pride in his voice that he hadn't planned or expected, "and he kept on working for Dumbledore, even after she died. He kept spying on Dumbledore, and he kept trying to protect us."

"Protect us?" Ginny said, cautiously.

"Yeah... he kept the Carrows in check, stopped them killing anyone, at least. And, remember at the start of this year, the Battle of Little Whinging?"

"Yeah," Ron said, growling slightly, "Little Whinging, where he cut George's ear off."

"Not intentionally," Harry said, noticing Ron's eyebrow rise with curiosity, "He was protecting Lupin, of all people. One of the Death Eaters went to curse him from behind, so Snape tried to cut his hand off with Sectumsempra, but he erm... well, he missed."

"No shit," Ron muttered, with a weak smile. Ginny, however, was suddenly looking very thoughtful.

"I did think it was odd," she began, "that we broke into his office, tried to steal the sword, and he just sent us to Hagrid for our detentions. He _knew _Hagrid would go easy on us, but I never understood why he sent us to him anyway."

"Because he got there first," Harry murmured.

"What?"

"Snape didn't just ask to become Headmaster so he could keep the Carrows in line. He was using Dumbledore's portrait, asking him for advice. They knew we'd need something to destroy the Horcruxes with, so Snape put a fake copy in his office – that's the one you tried to steal – and brought the real one to us. That night, in the Forest of Dean?"

"That Patronus was _Snape_?" Ron murmured, and Harry nodded. He was about to continue when Ginny interrupted.

"Sorry, but, can one of you tell me what the hell you're on about? The Forest of Dean? The Patronus?"

"Ah," Ron said, pausing nervously. He didn't like re-telling this part of the story, but decided to anyway, "Well, after I left" – Hermione sniffed with a mixture of anger and sadness at this, and Ron ignored Ginny's glare – "these two ended up in the Forest of Dean, it's in... erm... where is it?"

"Gloucestershire," Hermione supplied.

"Right, Gloucestershire. Anyway, I was at Shell Cottage – long story – and I was fiddling about with that Deluminator thing Dumbledore left to me. Every time they mentioned my name, it'd light up and I'd hear a little bit of conversation, and then it'd go quiet again. The thing acted like a kind of... what did you call it? A homing device?" Hermione nodded at this, as a few tears began to trickle down her cheeks, and she wiped them away in embarrassment, while Ron continued, "So, I started listening to the thing whenever I could – I barely slept – and eventually I couldn't take it anymore, so I just Apparated, and I was there, in the forest. I started wandering around, looking for some sign of them, and I saw this Patronus. I assumed it was Harry's, so I went after it, and I found this idiot in the water."

"I'd seen the doe when I was guarding the camp," Harry said, taking over the story, "and I followed it to this frozen-over lake. It just sort of hovered over the middle of the lake, and when I looked under the ice, the sword was there, on the bottom. So, I broke the ice and dived after it-"

"But he was still wearing Slytherin's locket, so the cursed thing tried to drown him," Ron interjected, and Ginny suddenly hugged Harry very tightly, as Ron continued, "I pulled him out of the water and got the sword myself, and we destroyed the Horcrux. Never found out whose Patronus led us there, though. I thought it was Harry's and he thought it was mine... but, you're saying it was _Snape_?"

"Yeah. In his memories, Dumbledore asked why he was still helping to protect me, and he conjured his Patronus – I swear it was identical to the one in the forest, a doe..."

"Just like your mum's," Ginny noted, sadly, although Harry felt rather flattered that she'd remembered that little detail.

"Then we went back to camp and _she_," Ron nodded at Hermione, grinning, "tried to beat me up!"

"Well you _did _run away and leave us on our own for weeks," Hermione said, rather more sadly than Ron. Harry shared a quick glance with Ron, and knew his friend was remembering what Harry had told him upon his return – how Hermione had cried for days at his departure.

"S'pose... anyway, you wanted to hear the story, that was the story. There's still one thing that confuses me, though... why did Snape always bully you?"

"Ron," Hermione said wearily, as if he was being extremely thick, "he was pretending to spy at Hogwarts for Voldemort. Don't you think it would have looked a bit suspicious if he _wasn't_ biased towards the Slytherins? He didn't _really _hate Harry."

"Yes he did," Harry said, and Hermione looked at him, confused and slightly shocked.

"But I thought you said he loved-"

"He loved my mum, yeah. But he hated my dad. My dad used to bully him because he was so interested in the Dark Arts, and Snape used to antagonise him as much as possible – he only fell for that prank of Sirius' and found Lupin because he wanted something he could use against my dad and his friends. I don't think he hates me, not me personally, at least..."

"But he hated what you represented," Hermione said, a slight note of realisation in her voice. Ron and Ginny still looked confused, however.

"What he _represented_? What d'you mean by that?" Ron said, bewildered, and Hermione once more looked at him as he was a particularly unintelligent rock.

"Ron, Snape loved Harry's mother for his whole life. Imagine how much it must have hurt when she fell in love with the person he hated most in the world. And then, as if that wasn't bad enough, once she's gone for good" – Harry shut his eyes and bit his lip, and Ginny held onto him even more tightly – "he has to constantly see her son, who looks so much like his hated rival. Every time he saw Harry, it would have been a reminder that he lost to James."

There was a sober silence as they all considered that for a moment – Harry in particular felt slightly guilty. Finally, Hermione spoke up, in a quiet, timid voice.

"We've been up here for hours," she said, "We should probably go down, they'll be wondering where they've been."

"And why's that a bad thing?" Ron demanded.

"Ron, just because Godric Gryffindor decided to let you up here, doesn't mean your mum will be so sympathetic..." Ron paled as she said this, and turned to Harry.

"She's got a point, mate," he muttered; Harry nodded, and the two of them promptly made for the door, as Hermione smirked.

* * *

><p>As the afternoon wore on into evening, the Gryffindors retreated to the common room one by one, until there was a bustle of activity. Give the romantic nature of the day's gossip, they had returned to the social conventions of ten-year-olds, and the room was pretty much split in half, girls on one side, boys on the other. Ron noted that the girls had nabbed the warm fire, relegating the boys to the far side of the common room, but none of them really seemed to mind. He was absent-mindedly watching as Ginny descended into fits of giggles alongside Angelina, Katie, and Alicia, who were all sat in armchairs around the aforementioned fire, while Fleur and Hermione chatted earnestly next to them.<p>

The boys were scattered across various sofas and bits of floor – Seamus, Dean and Neville were perched precariously on beanbags, engrossed in a game of Exploding Snap, while Harry and Wood were sat in armchairs, chatting about – as far as Ron could tell from Wood's flailing hand gestures – old Quidditch games from the days of Wood's captaincy. Bill and Charlie _had _been chatting conspiratorially over by the wall, but now Ron nearly jumped out of his skin, as Charlie vaulted over the back of the sofa he was sitting on and bounced down next to him.

"So, baby brother," he began, teasingly.

"_Hermione Granger_," Bill murmured, as he appeared on Ron's other side, also taking a seat.

"If you've come to take the piss..." Ron started, but Charlie cut him off.

"No, no, we _like _Hermione. We've come to give you 'The Talk'." Ron merely rolled his eyes at this, as if it were an unfunny joke the twins would play – his stomach twinged slightly as he remembered it was just the one twin now...

"Charlie, you do realise I'm seventeen, right?"

"Not _that_ talk, you prat," Charlie replied, "Dad gets that oh-so-wonderful responsibility. No, this is the Weasley Big Brother Talk."

"The what?" Ron scowled. It was around about now that he was starting to notice the vague smell of alcohol on his brother's breath.

"Now, we know Harry's your best friend," Bill said, patiently, "but it's our duty as big brothers to hex him into next week if he does anything to mess Ginny about, got it?"

"I wouldn't bother," Ron said, starting to grin. There was _definitely _a hint of firewhiskey on Bill's breath. "Firstly, he wouldn't. Secondly, Ginny can hex him perfectly well herself."

"You reckon?" Charlie grinned.

"Put it this way – Harry spent most of our fifth year teaching her _how. _Don't believe me?" he said, mockingly, and for the first time, Charlie started to look worried, as Ron shouted across the room, "Oi! Ginny! Charlie here reckons you can't cast hexes!"

Ginny scowled at her brothers, casually waved her wand, and continued chatting to the other girls. Charlie looked around, confused, as nothing happened.

"What was that you were saying, baby brother? Look, I'm fine," he said, then tried to stand up, and fell flat on his face, as Bill began to roar in amusement.

"You were saying?" Ron smirked, and Charlie muttered something from the floor.

"Knee-Reversal Hex. That's just _brilliant_."

Shaking his head, Ron got up, and left the room, as Bill began to snort with laughter, and Charlie rummaged around for his wand to remove the hex. Subconsciously, he headed not for his own dorm, wanting to avoid any interruptions from the other boys, but for Hermione's – she was too engrossed in her conversation to come up any time soon, so he was ensured some time to himself, to think things over.

When he finally reached her dorm (and noticed that the plaque on the door still said "Seventh Years", as it was only May and the school year shouldn't have finished yet) he pushed the door open lightly, saw, to his relief, that it was empty, and staggered over to the far corner of the room. He kicked his shoes off, and threw his shirt to the end of the bed, then sat down on the nearest four-poster. The same thoughts that had struck Harry as they walked back from the Quidditch pitch were hitting Ron now; everyone was _happy_, even in the wake of everything that had happened. He shifted across and lay down, staring blankly out of the far window, where the sun had finally dipped below the horizon. The clouds were stained red in the twilight, and Ron stared on, as the inky black of night finally began to pierce the glow, and the last of the sun's light began to disappear.

He guessed he had been staring out of the window for a few hours by the time Hermione came in – a crescent moon had risen, and was casting a silvery glow through the darkened room as she eased the door open, not at all surprised to see Ron lying there, and slipped inside. Ron was blank as she entered – she wasn't sure he had even noticed her – and continued to stare absently out of the window as she reached for her trunk, quickly stripping off her top and jeans. She grabbed a large t-shirt that came down to the middle of her thighs (in hindsight, Ron would realise it was one of his own) and pulled it over her head, then climbed onto the bed next to him, putting a worried hand on his shoulder.

Finally, Ron rolled onto his back, and, still staring up at the top of the four-poster, felt fit to burst. He had to tell her, he had to tell _someone _what he was thinking.

"Why are we doing this, Hermione?" he said, at last. Hermione looked affronted, and Ron realised he could have picked his words a bit better...

"What do you mean?" she replied, sounding a bit hurt.

"Not _this_," he murmured reassuringly, running a hand through her hair, "_that_, downstairs. Drinking and playing and laughing... People are dead, Hermione. My _brother_'s dead! And we're all acting like nothing's happened!"

"Ron," Hermione whispered, looking a lot happier now she knew he wasn't reconsidering their relationship, "it's alright. It's normal."

"Normal? It's not normal to have a party when someone dies, Hermione!"

"No, that's not what I mean. The end of a war," she continued, "especially one as bad as this... people don't want to dwell on it, they want to move on, celebrate the fact that it's over."

"Just because they _want _to do that doesn't mean they _should_! The only person who actually seems to be grieving at all's George!"

"And he's drinking himself to death," Hermione said, rather ruffled, "would Fred want that?"

"We don't _know _what he wants, he's dead, remember?" Ron said, raising his voice and looking rather angry as if bringing Fred into her argument was a dirty move.

"Ron, we know why he fought, it's the same reason we all did. He fought and died so that we could have happy, normal lives. He gave us the chance to move on and be happy, and...well... we owe it to him to make the most of it..." Hermione trailed off, and when Ron finally looked across at her, he saw for the first time that she was crying. Forgetting any hint of anger he had, Ron rolled onto his side and put his arms around her, as she buried her face in his bare chest, and curled up next to him.

At the foot of the bed, two shimmering white figures had gone unseen. The dog and the otter were faithfully watching the door, intertwined together, where they remained until the dawn.


	8. Chapter 8: The New Minister

**Chapter 8 - The New Minister**

The two shimmering familiars had disappeared with the sunrise, breaking up and fading as Ron awoke, to an empty room and a blaze of breaking sunlight. His thought was to look across at Hermione, who was almost shining herself, beautifully lit by the first few rays of sunlight to pierce the morning. There were tear tracks along her cheeks, and her eyes were ever so slightly red around the edge, but she was smiling contently.

Gently, Ron eased himself off the bed, and headed over to the window, squinting slightly in the bright light. The Hogwarts grounds were a pale yellow as the sun began to rise, and the usually black, forbidding lake looked as if it was covered in glitter, as the sunlight bounced off its surface. The window was open a fraction, and the cool breeze was refreshing on his bare chest. Quite suddenly, a pair of cool hands were clasped around his waist, and Hermione was resting her head on his shoulder from behind.

"Morning," she murmured, and Ron could tell she was smiling.

"Sleep well?" he said, casually.

"Wonderfully," Hermione whispered, and the two stood together, watching the sunrise, for what felt like hours. It was as if their row in the night had never happened, and Ron was thankful for that. Finally, Hermione let go of his waist, and walked away. He turned, and watched her cross the room. Her bushy hair was all over the place, and her face was tearstained, yet she still looked utterly beautiful to him. He smiled happily.

His smile dropped as there was a loud knock at the door. Both he and Hermione went white as it opened a crack, and a familiar voice echoed through.

"Hermione, dear..." murmured Molly Weasley, as Hermione crossed the room with speed Ron had never known she possessed and grabbed the door, stopping it from opening any further.

"Just a minute!" she said, sounding very shrill. "Let me just, erm... make myself decent!"

"Ah, okay dear," his mother replied, and the door clicked shut again. Ron turned to Hermione and began to smirk, as he mouthed "_Make myself decent?"_. Hermione gave him a nervous grin, and tugged at the t-shirt she was wearing, pulling it almost down to her knees. At the time, Ron had wanted to point out that wearing his t-shirt was even more suspicious than slamming the door in his mum's face, but it didn't seem appropriate, and he was enjoying the sight. Hermione looked up at him, and nodded silently towards the bathroom door.

Getting the message, Ron tip-toed to the door, being careful not to make an unnecessary noise (and altogether forgetting the room's Silencing Charm in his moment of panic), until he reached the door, gently eased it open, and stepped inside, shutting it with a click. As he pressed his ear to the door, he heard Hermione open the door to the dormitory, with an apologetic murmur.

"Sorry about that, Molly, I just woke up..."

"It's no problem, dear, I'd half-expected you to still be in bed- have you been crying, dear?" Molly said in a worried tone, seemingly noticing the tear tracks for the first time.

"Oh, erm... well, a little. Missing my parents a bit," Hermione lied – Ron would have said she was a bad liar, but he knew he and Harry were far worse at it, so he mentally stopped himself.

"Oh, you poor girl. There's no need to suffer in silence, dear. We're always here for you if you need someone to talk to," Molly said affectionately.

"Thanks Mrs Wea- thanks, Molly," Hermione murmured, and Ron knew that would put his mum in a good mood – _"Smart move, Hermione," _he thought. "So... was there something you wanted?" she said, rather nervously.

"I was just checking if you'd seen Rom. Kingsley's here, and he wants a word, but we can't seem to find him anywhere..." Ron was wondering what Kingsley could want to talk to him about, as Hermione was forced to think on her feet again.

"I haven't seen them since last night," she said, trying to sound surprised, "Have you tried the kitchens?"

"No, I'll go and check there now. Honestly, Ron and his food, I don't know... Thanks anyway, dear, sorry to disturb you." Ron heard Molly bustle out of the room, and heard the dormitory door shut, as Hermione sighed.

Poking his head around the bathroom door, Ron saw that the room was empty again, and sighed too.

"That was _too _close," he muttered, as he headed for the door to the corridor, then stopped, and continued, "Hermione, what if she sees me coming down the stairs? She'll work it out..." Hermione looked momentarily panicked, then grabbed him by the arm and led him out onto the staircase.

"Wait here," she whispered, as she continued downwards, "I'll give you the thumbs up once she's out of the portrait hole." Ron nodded, and watched Hermione as she reached the bottom of the staircase. After a few minutes, she flashed him a quick thumbs up. They shared a quick kiss as he passed her, and walked into the common room, still dressed only in his jeans from last night.

Harry smirked at him from an armchair by the fire, and Neville grinned from the next one over, as they heard Hermione's footsteps retreating back up the stairs. Ron said something obscene. Harry had opened his mouth, but before he could make any jokes, the portrait hole swung open, just minutes after it had shut, and Molly Weasley stepped back through, followed by Kingsley, who swept in, looking far too composed for this time of day, and wearing clean, purple robes. Molly did a double take as she saw Ron.

"Ron?" she spluttered, "Where on earth have you been?"

"Oh, I couldn't sleep so I... went to get a drink," he said, trailing off under his mother's glare.

"So _that's_ what the noise was," Neville lied, without a hint of shame, "I thought Seamus had fallen out of bed again..."

Molly nodded, as if that was enough proof for her, and for a moment Ron contemplated hugging Neville, but realised it would probably give the game away.

"Well, Kingsley here wants a word with the three of you. Heaven only knows why he had to do it at _this _hour, but I'm told it's important," she murmured, then turned to leave, muttering, "Oh, and put a shirt on Ronald, you'll catch your death of cold..."

Ron glanced at Harry, who appeared to be biting his lip very hard to stop himself from laughing, and then took the third armchair by the fire, as Kingsley paced over to them. Something in his calm brown eyes told Ron that he had seen through his pale lie, but he didn't press the matter.

"So," Ron began, a bit nervously, "how's everything going at the Ministry?"

"Not too well," Kingsley said, his brow creasing into a frown, "the Ministry is ours again, but there was some resistance. The Auror Office in particular was difficult to reclaim." At this, all three boys looked surprised, and Ron's jaw dropped open.

"The Aurors? I thought they were meant to fight _against _Death Eaters, not _for _them."

"Ronald," Kingsley said, ignoring Ron's grimace at the use of his full name, "_Yaxley _was in charge of Magical Law Enforcement for a whole year, and one of his priorities was reducing the threat of the Aurors. The only ones left in the Ministry after that year were sympathisers and Imperius victims."

There were a few moments of silence, and Ron began to realise just how difficult the task was that awaited Kingsley (not to mention his father and brother). The Death Eaters had run the Ministry for a _year_, and it was beginning to dawn on him that they would have been removing Muggle-borns and Order sympathisers from their ranks throughout that year. He remembered his father telling him how Kingsley himself had been forced to flee the Ministry, after triggering the Taboo Curse. As Kingsley continued, the three boys all listened intently.

"There were twelve Aurors when the Ministry fell, not counting Scrimgeour. Of them, four, including the Head Auror, were murdered over the year, we lost one at the Battle of Hogwarts" – everyone looked very sober as they remembered the loss of Tonks – "one was forced to go on the run, three assisted the new Ministry willingly, and two were placed under the Imperius Curse."

"That's only eleven," Ron said aloud, as Kingsley finished, and continued, "what about the twelfth one?"

"You're speaking to him," Kingsley reminded him with an amused smile.

"Oh."

"In the end, the Order had to take the Auror Office by force. We took two of the known sympathisers by surprise, knocked them out, and subdued the Imperius victims as painlessly as we could, but Dawlish got wind of the attack and tried to duel me. In the end, he blew himself up and took half of the office with him..."

"So, you've got no Aurors left, not counting yourself?" Neville murmured, incredulously.

"Williamson – the one who went into hiding – Apparated back as soon as he heard the Ministry had been retaken, so that's one official Auror, at least. And as soon as they've recovered from their injuries while they were under the Imperius curse, we'll have Proudfoot and Savage back. But that's still only four Aurors, including myself."

As he spoke, Kingsley was looking at the three boys, glancing from each to the next as if evaluating them. Was he saying what Ron thought he was saying?

"I happen to know that all three of you have expressed a desire to become Aurors, to Professor McGonagall, or to myself" – he looked at Neville, answering Ron's next question before he could even ask it – "and I would strongly advise you to consider it."

"Kingsley," Harry said, quietly, "you said you needed Aurors urgently, but, well, me and Ron haven't been at Hogwarts all year, and Neville spent most of the year in hiding. We'd need to be here for at least another year to get the NEWTs we need, and even then-" Kingsley cut him off with a raised hand.

"Harry, that has been taken into account. I have spoken to Professor McGonagall, and we both agree that no piece of paper could qualify you as well as your actions," Kingsley said in a soothing voice, "Look at the facts, boys. Between you, you have attacked and defeated at least twenty Death Eaters, and killed two of the strongest; Lord Voldemort and Bellatrix Lestrange. You broke into the Department of Mysteries when you were barely fifteen years of age. You two" – he nodded at Harry and Ron – "and Hermione infiltrated both the Ministry of Magic _and _Gringotts Bank, two of the most magically-secure buildings in the country. I could list your achievements all day, not to mention your heritage."

"Heritage?" Neville whispered, looking uncertain about the whole thing.

"Yes, heritage," Kingsley repeated, calmly. "For a start, all of your parents were members of the Order of the Phoenix. Neville, your parents were two of the finest Aurors I have ever had the pleasure of working with. Harry, your parents were Head Boy and Head Girl at Hogwarts, and were both capable of extraordinary feats of magic even by the time they left school. Ron, your family may not have been Aurors, but Arthur, Bill and Charlie all did exceptional work for the Order, and even the twins..." he trailed off slightly as Ron bit his lip, and went a bit pale, before Kingsley continued, "even they had a natural talent for highly creative magic, their products are evidence enough of that."

All three boys, had they been fully awake, would have been glowing at the praise they and their families were being given, but it was early, and they were tired, and they merely looked at Kingsley with slight smiles, and waited for him to continue.

"What I am _trying _to say," Kingsley said, still speaking very softly, "is that all three of you would be more than welcome to join the Auror Office, without your NEWTs, as soon as you like. Everyone involved has agreed on that. Well, except Molly." He grinned at Ron as he said the latter, and Ron smiled weakly back. His mum had been worried when Bill became a curse-breaker, and she had been even more distraught when Charlie announced he was going to another country to work with dragons, so how on earth would she react to him becoming an _Auror_?

"I'd consider it," Harry said, breaking the silence, "I already told McGonagall I didn't think I could manage a year here after everything that's happened..."

"And she told you to speak to me?" Kingsley guessed. Harry nodded, and he continued, "Yes, she was very adamant that all three of you were capable enough... Still, I don't expect any of you to make a decision right now. At the very least, you should take this summer off to relax and heal your wounds. Send me an owl or come and see me some time after the next school year starts, and we'll take it from there, should you want to go through with this. Now go out and enjoy yourselves, boys." With a smile, he turned and swept away across the common room.

As Kingsley stepped through the portrait hole, Ron looked at Harry and Neville. They were both wearing the same distant, pondering expression he was.

"So," he began, slowly, "What d'you reckon? Us, becoming Aurors?"

"Well what else would we do? As much as I like Hogwarts, I don't think I could manage another year of Double Potions on a Monday morning," Harry said, thoughtfully, "and what sort of jobs could we get without NEWTs?"

"We've spent the last year fighting Death Eaters... why stop now?" said Neville, simply. His face was burning with pride, and Ron was sure he was imagining becoming an Auror, and living up to his parents' reputations...

"Well _I _think you should do what Kingsley says," said a bossy voice from the far side of the room, "and think about it over the summer." Ron span around as Hermione walked over, smiling. She was still tousle-haired and wearing his old t-shirt down to her knees as she walked over and sat on the arm of his chair.

"Were you eavesdropping on us?" Ron said, in a mock tone of accusation. Hermione simply smiled at him again, and blushed.

"I hate to say it, but she's right," Harry muttered, "Again. Hogwarts starts up again in September, so that gives us four months to relax and think it through."

Ron's stomach jolted at this thought. It was the fourth of May now, so they had almost the whole of May, June, July and August to do with as they wished. "_Four whole months..." _he mused.

"Exactly," said Hermione, smiling sweetly, "so in the meantime, let's work out what we're going to do with all that time... and get changed, I'd definitely like to get changed before any of your brothers see me..." she directed the latter comment at Ron, who rolled his eyes, and grinned.

The four of them got up, and were half way to the dormitory stairs before a sudden realisation flashed across Harry's face, and he stopped, staring at Neville.

"Hang on!" he said, in a tone of surprise, "You _killed_ Bellatrix?"


	9. Chapter 9: Guilt

**Chapter 9 - Guilt**

Ron had already explained and fully detailed Neville's killing of Bellatrix Lestrange by the time he, Neville and Harry had reached their dormitory. Neville had gone slightly red, and was looking away nervously. He had gained a great deal of courage over the last few years, but he still got embarrassed very easily, and seemed to hate any attention being drawn to himself. Harry was smiling proudly, though, and clapped Neville on the back in congratulation.

The three of them fell silent as they stepped into the dormitory – Seamus and Dean were still fast asleep – and shuffled around, trying not to wake them as they grabbed fresh clothes, and changed as quietly as they could, before heading back downstairs.

"I'll see you later, I'm going to go and find Luna," Neville said, and headed for the portrait hole. After a few minutes of waiting, Harry made his excuses too, much to Ron's surprise.

"I'm going to go and see Hagrid, there's something I need to talk to him about," he muttered, and made to leave. Ron got the distinct impression that he wanted to be alone – he couldn't put his finger on it, but something had happened in the night; Harry was a lot less cheerful than he had been yesterday. Had he and Ginny had a fight? No, Hermione would have mentioned it...wouldn't she? He shook his head, and turned around as Hermione entered, followed by Ginny, who yawned loudly, then looked around, as they realised Harry wasn't present.

"Ron... where's Harry?" Hermione said, curiously.

"Hagrid's, or at least, that's what he said. Sounded like he had something on his mind, you know what Harry's like."

"Yes, I do..." Hermione trailed off, and Ron couldn't decide whether she sound worried or pleased. Before either of them could say anything more, the portrait hole swung open with a slight creak. Turning around, Ron was surprised to see his father's head poke into the common room, look around, and then spot him with a smile.

"Ron, can I have a word?" he said, and Ron exchanged a perplexed glance with Hermione before heading for the portrait hole. He ducked through, and his followed his father down the corridor, as he began to speak, in a tone of slight excitement.

"So, has Kingsley spoken to you yet?" Ron was caught completely off-guard by the question, then realised that, like his mum, his dad had probably been told that Kingsley wanted to see him, but not what for.

"Err... yeah."

"And?"

"And what?" Ron said defensively, as Arthur rolled his eyes.

"Ron, did it not occur to you that Kingsley might have told me what he had planned? He even asked me whether I thought you'd be interested," he said, then noticed Ron's white face, and added, "Don't worry, your mother doesn't know yet. Neither I nor Kingsley was brave enough to mention this to her..."

"I don't blame you," Ron said, looking far more relieved, "and we haven't decided yet. Harry seems to think it's a good idea, but we decided we're going to think about it over the summer, and let Kingsley know once the next school year starts."

"Very wise," Arthur said, nodding, then leant in and said, rather conspiratorially, "I know your mother might not approve of such a dangerous career, but for the record, I know you can handle yourself, and that goes for Harry, too."

As they turned a corner into another corridor, Ron's relief grew. It was encouraging to know at least one of his parents would approve if he became an Auror. His mother's objection was only out of her own fear – a fear heightened by the loss of her own brothers, he knew – that her children would be injured, or even killed. It was touching, really, but he knew it could get annoying, particularly for Charlie.

"Thanks, Dad."

"It's not a problem, son, it happens to be the truth," Arthur said, smiling warmly at his youngest son. Then, Ron's stomach dropped, as he continued, "So then, how long have you and Hermione been dating?"

"I-we-ho-what?" Ron spluttered, struggling to talk coherently, as Arthur smiled. If his first question had been a surprise, this one was a bombshell. For a few seconds, Ron continued to spit out half-formed words, before he finally settled on, "How did you know?"

"Well, your mother and I came to check on everyone last night, in the common room..."

For a moment, Ron's stomach turned somersaults – had they known he and Hermione were in bed together all along? No, they couldn't do, his mother would have made _some _remark, he was sure of it. Unless his father knew and hadn't told her...

"Bill and Charlie really were _very _drunk, and they said some rather strange things," Arthur continued, smiling enigmatically, and went on, "Something about their baby brother and Hermione... and some rather odd things about Ginny and her new boyfriend, but Charlie passed out before he said who it was..." Arthur trailed off, and Ron felt a burning injustice. Harry had gotten away with it – for now, at least – while he'd been given away by his own brothers. But then, he supposed, his dad was right. They were _very _drunk.

"Well, they weren't lying. We've been 'sort-of' dating for a while, as Harry puts it. I guess we only got together properly a few weeks ago," he confessed, as his father smiled again, with what appeared to be pride.

"I had my suspicions, Charlie just confirmed them. You know, the two of you remind me of myself at your age, and a certain Miss Prewett..." Ron felt slightly awkward at this.

"S'pose," he muttered, meekly.

"She's a good girl, Hermione," Arthur said, serious for just about the first time in their conversation, "Be good to her."

"I _was_ planning to be..." he said, rolling his eyes.

"I know, it just needed saying," his father said, defensively, then went on, "I'd best be off, there's a lot needs doing at the Ministry. I don't know how Kingsley's managing it all..."

Shaking his head, Arthur headed off along the corridor, as Ron turned around and tried to retrace his steps. He had to admit, that was possibly _the _weirdest conversation he'd ever had. It took him ten minutes or so to find his way back to the common room, and when he returned he found Hermione and Ginny still waiting for him, now talking to a freshly-awoken Bill, who was doing a rather good impression of a bear with a sore head.

"Mornin'," Ron grunted as he crossed the common room, "How's the hangover?"

"Like wrestling a troll," Bill said, massaging his temple, "Still, it's not so bad – you should see Fleur..."

"You've seen enough of her for the both of us," Ron replied, grinning, and Bill scowled.

"You know, I'd get up to hit you, but I think I might fall over..." he grimaced, and Ron smirked.

"What did your dad want?" Hermione said, clearly keen to change the subject.

"Just wanted to check I'd spoken to Kingsley," Ron said cryptically, as Ginny and Bill looked curiously at him. "Should we head down to breakfast?"

"You and your bloody appetite," Ginny muttered, "Shouldn't we wait for Harry?"

"He said he'd be a while. He'll be back when he's ready," Ron said, with surprising wisdom, and headed for the portrait hole, followed by the two girls.

* * *

><p>"What did Kingsley want with Ron?" Ginny whispered – she and Hermione had fallen a little way behind Ron as he headed for breakfast, oblivious, while they stayed back to talk.<p>

"I shouldn't say," Hermione murmured, and then, seeing the frustrated look on Ginny's face, added, "It's not a secret, you'll find out! I just think Harry should be the one to tell you. Kingsley spoke to both of them, and Neville."

This sated Ginny's curiosity for the time being – if Ron had said it, she would have gotten annoyed, but she knew Hermione usually had her reasons. The two of them hurried after Ron, and caught him up before he'd even noticed they were lagging behind, as they descended a set of stairs leading into the entrance hall, and froze. Hagrid was lumbering in through the open front doors, jangling a set of keys and whistling merrily. He was quite alone, apart from Fang, who gave a happy, booming bark at the sight of them.

"Ah, mornin'," Hagrid called out, noticing them as Fang raced up the stairs and attacked Ron's legs affectionately, "Bit early to be up and about, ain't it?" Ginny, however, was barely paying attention to his question, and quickly blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

"Hagrid, where's Harry?" she said quietly. Hagrid's huge face twisted into a confused frown.

"Harry? I 'aven't seen him since yesterday, why?"

Now, none of the three were paying attention to Hagrid. They shared a collective, pale look with each other, and then Ginny began to climb back up the stairs.

"Gin, where are you-" Ron began, but she cut him off.

"I think I know what's up with the daft git. Leave him to me..."

Ginny did indeed have her suspicions, but she couldn't confirm them without asking Harry, and to ask him, she had to _find _him. Fortunately, she had a solution for that, too. She began to sprint up the stairs, barely stopping until she reached the Gryffindor common room, raced through the portrait hole, and headed for the stairs to the boy's dormitories, ignoring a half-focused, questioning frown from Bill.

She began to slow down, finally, as she read off the plaques on the doors; _"Fifth Years..."; "Sixth Years..."; "Seventh Years." _She stopped, and eased the door open, all-too aware of Dean and Seamus, still slumbering peacefully in their beds. Careful not to wake them, Ginny grabbed the rucksack at the foot of Harry's bed and began to rummage through it – struggling in the semi-darkness – until her fingers closed around a piece of folded parchment. Pulling it out, and suppressing a triumphant smile, she bolted out of the dormitory once more, out past Bill, and out into the corridor. Keen to be out of earshot, she waited until she reached one of the hidden staircases, pushed through the tapestry at the top, and then sat down eagerly on the steps, holding the parchment in front of her.

Harry had showed her it a few times last summer, when they had first started dating. In hindsight, she'd seen the twins poring over it a few times at home or in the common room, but hadn't realised what it was they were examining. But what the hell had they said to activate it? The parchment, at present, was staying very dormant.

"I solemnly swear..." she muttered, remembering those few words, at least. "I solemnly swear that I... really, _really _need this map?" As she spoke, a neat, curling scrawl began to form, but her heart dropped as she actually read it.

_What map?_

"I know it's a map, you git..."

_Mr. Padfoot would like to assure Miss Weasley that calling him a "git" is in no way helping his disposition, Ginger._

"Yeah, well Mister Padfoot isn't helping _my _disposition," she muttered. Then, with a jolt, she realised that the parchment had called her Miss Weasley... how the _hell_ did it know her name? "Come on... what did Harry say to open it...?" she said, more to herself than to the map, and jabbed the parchment with her wand.

_Mr. Prongs urges Miss Weasley to be more careful when she whips her wand out._

"I solemnly swear..." she began, remembering Harry's words – or some of them, at least. Faint lines began to appear as she spoke, then faded when she stopped, replaced by more sprawling text.

_Mr. Moony expresses his astonishment that Miss Weasley was smart enough to get this far, but would like to remind her that half an answer is no answer._

_Mr. Wormtail concurs with Mr. Moony, and asks Miss Weasley to kindly shove off._

"Shut up, you... I solemnly swear..." by now, she was not trying to remember the words, but was trying to think what Fred and George might have said that accidentally opened it. Finally, it came to her, "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good!" she cried, tapping the parchment furiously with her wand.

_There you go..._

And now, black ink lines began to creep over the parchment in earnest, as a huge, round blotch, almost like a wax seal, appeared at the top, while Ginny watched impatiently.

_Messrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs, Purveyors of Aid to Magical Mischief-Makers, are proud to present..._

"Yes, yes, the Marauder's Map. Get on with it!"

_Be patient, Ginger._

Ginny huffed at this, and waited, as the lines across the parchment became thicker and thicker, and a full, detailed map of Hogwarts blossomed on the inside. The outside still bore the four Marauders' signatures, and the dark seal, into which were etched the words:

_The Marauders Map. _

_And then, as an afterthought, more scrawling words:_

_Happy, Ginger?_

"Ecstatic," she huffed, and pulled the map open, scanning the tiny dots and names that covered it. Hermione and Ron were inside the Great Hall with Hagrid, and Ginny spotted Peeves rocketing towards Argus Filch, somewhere in the dungeons, but most people, it seemed, were still in their common rooms or dormitories. After a minute or so, her eyes were drawn outside the thick, dark lines of Hogwarts' walls, and over the grounds, towards the lake. A single dot stood on the very edge, and Ginny's heart leapt as she saw the name flicker above it: _"Harry Potter"_.

"_I should have known," _she thought to herself, as she reached the lake a few minutes later. Harry was sat in the shade of a sweeping willow tree, staring thoughtfully out, over the lake, as a cool breeze made the surface ripple. She'd been here with him before, about a year earlier, before he'd broken up with her and gone off on his big and noble Horcrux hunt, etcetera... It didn't surprise her in the slightest that he'd come back here.

Harry barely seemed to notice her as she sat down next to him, putting a tender hand on his. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and they both continued to look out over the rippling water for a minute or so, until, finally, Ginny decided to voice her suspicions.

"You dreamed again last night," she murmured, stating it, rather than asking.

"No potions to stop me dreaming this time," he muttered, nodding gloomily.

"Harry, you know you can talk to me about it..."

"No, I can't. Why are you even here?" he said, harshly, and Ginny flushed slightly.

"Because I love you, you prat!"

"You should be blaming me."

"Blaming y- what on earth for?" she said, sounding shocked, despite the first fragment of an understanding creeping into her mind...

"Fred, of course!" he said, and Ginny saw a mixture of remorse and frustration in his voice.

"That's what this is, isn't it? You're feeling _guilty!_ Well, stop it! No-one else blames you, so why should you?"

There was an awkward silence, and then...

"I saw them all. Lupin, Tonks... Fred..." Ginny winced slightly as she thought of her brother, and Harry continued, "I took too long... if I'd been quicker, if I'd been stronger, if I'd been _better_, I could have stopped him earlier..."

"You would have come back to Hogwarts in the end, and so would he. You know we would have fought, either way. I don't blame you, and neither would they," she said, trying to sound both firm and compassionate, but Harry didn't look convinced, and began to rant again.

"You don't mean that. You want to be mad at me, for Fred. You _should _be mad at me for Fred. I let him fight for me, and I let him die for me. I don't deserve you! You should hate me!" He bellowed the last few sentences, and Ginny let out an involuntary gasp, hardly recognising the furious face that was speaking.

She had expected him to feel guilty for the losses. Hermione had warned her that he always shouldered the responsibility – he had blamed himself for the losses of Cedric, Sirius, Mad-Eye, even Dumbledore... But that had caught her completely off-guard. _"I don't deserve you," _from the lips of the most heroic man she'd ever known and loved...

Before he had a chance to protest, she flung her arms around him and pulled him into a tight hug.

"Harry," she whispered in his ear, "sometimes you just need someone you love to hold you tight, and tell you everything's going to be okay..."

There was a slight pause.

"And sometimes, you need someone who loves _you _to tell you when you're being a prat."


	10. Chapter 10: Good Memories

**Chapter 10 - Good Memories**

Harry didn't reply to Ginny's assurances, he just shut his eyes and squeezed her equally tightly, loathe to let go. Deep inside, he knew she was right. She had to be. If she was wrong, he doubted he could go on living, and he _wanted _to live, for her sake as much as his own.

"I know," he murmured, and felt her hands relax slightly in relief.

"Nobody blames you, Harry," she whispered gently, "we all choseto fight because we believed in you, and we hated _him_. Fred went out fighting. We'll mourn him, but we're proud of him for it." Something in her words stirred memories of the previous day – he could hear the same tone of quiet pride in her voice that Ron had used when talking about the Prewett twins.

"Fabian and Gideon," he muttered, almost inaudibly.

"What?"

"Ron told me about Dolohov, and your mum's brothers," he said, sadly.

"Dolohov," she muttered, almost spitting his name, to Harry's surprise, "Thinking you were dead killed me, and then that bastard almost made you die for real... I..."

Ginny's voice cracked as she tried to continue – she squeezed Harry a bit tighter, and fell silent. Harry got the distinct impression she was struggling with her determination not to cry. He was silent too – he didn't tell her – or perhaps couldn't tell her – how much his insides burned at the thought of Dolohov. Bad enough that he had murdered Ginny's uncles and gotten away with it, bad enough that he had nearly killed both Hermione _and_ Harry himself, but now the hateful flames had been fuelled still further in Harry's head, by a realisation in the night:

"_Have you seen Remus?" _he heard Tonks cry in his mind's eye.

"_He was duelling Dolohov, haven't seen him since!" _came Aberforth's shout in return_._

Ginny was upset enough already, without Harry telling her what (or rather, who) had killed Remus Lupin. Inwardly, however, he longed to face Dolohov, longed to avenge his father's friend, for Dolohov had done something far more appalling to Harry than merely kill a good man – he had left a child orphaned, just like Harry himself. Bellatrix had played her part too, in her murder of Tonks, but while she had died for it, Antonin Dolohov had fled and slipped away, just like he did after killing Fabian and Gideon Prewett.

Harry pushed such thoughts from his head as far as possible – he thought of Ginny's encouragement, and of Ginny herself – the sight of her, the scent of her, the knowledge that she, by her own confession, loved him too. Two hours later, she was still in his arms by the lakeside. They were lying on their sides, with his arms wrapped around her waist, looking out at the rippling, shimmering water, and the blue, cloud-strewn sky, in rapture.

As other students began to file out onto the grounds after breakfast, they decided to head inside and find some company. Harry knew Ginny was looking for something to take his mind off his guilt, but he didn't complain, as he happened to be looking for such a thing too. When they finally got back to the Gryffindor common room, Ron and Hermione were waiting, in armchairs by the fire. Neville and Luna were sat across from them, and the four were chatting in earnest, with Luna having apparently been let in as an "honorary Gryffindor" by Neville. Hermione was the first to spot them entering, and cast a critical glance at Harry – once again, she seemed to know what he was thinking – but he put his worries to the back of his mind, and followed Ginny over to the corner, pulling up an armchair between Ron and Luna.

"Morning," Ron mumbled, as Ginny found another chair, and he continued, "Where'd you-OUCH!"

"Sorry," Ginny said, not sounding sorry at all, having dropped her chair on his foot with surprising force. She shot him a warning glare, and he fell silent.

"Anyway, like I was just saying," Hermione began, acting as if nothing had happened, "we have four months to ourselves before we come back to Hogwarts, or go off to become Aurors, or whatever we decide to do. We should work out what we're going to do with it so we don't waste it."

"_How,_" Ron said, smirking, "can you make a holiday sound so boring? It's a holiday! We're supposed to relax, not plan it all out!"

"I'm just saying, there are some things we _need _to do, and we should get them out of the way so we don't forget."

"Like?"

"Like getting new wands? Ollivander's is selling wands again, now."

"Alright, fair point," Ron grumbled, "What else?"

"I need to visit Teddy," Harry said, almost involuntarily. His godson had been filling his thoughts after his night of nightmares, and he was determined to make sure he did his duty to the kid, as Sirius had tried to do for him. Hermione nodded sagely.

"I imagine Andromeda could do with visitors, poor woman. First her husband, then her daughter..." she trailed off, and everyone looked quite sober at the thought.

"We need to check on Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, too, if we're in Diagon Alley," Ron said, evidently trying to pick the mood up.

"Why?" Ginny said, curious.

"George hasn't been near the place since Easter, we don't even know if it's still standing!"

"So..." Hermione said, as if she was ticking off a list in her head, "A day in Diagon Alley to get new wands, check on George's store, maybe get some books..."

"Or not," Ron muttered, and she shot him a disparaging look.

"A visit to the Tonks' house... anything else?"

"I need to visit Gringotts," Neville piped up, "but I guess I can go when the rest of you go to Diagon Alley and meet up with you afterwards."

"Why do you need to go to Gringotts?" Ron said, without a shred of subtlety or tact, and this time it was Hermione who shut him up, elbowing him in the ribs.

"No reason," Neville murmured, smiling slightly as Ron shot a frustrated look at Hermione.

"So that's two days... out of four months," Hermione said, ignoring Ron, and looking quite frustrated herself.

"If it helps, Mum'll want us to spend at least a week at home, you know what she's like," Ron muttered, and Ginny nodded in assent.

"Right, so-" Hermione continued, but was almost immediately interrupted by a rattling noise besides their heads. Perched on the stone sill of the nearest window was a little owl, dark grey, and with piercing yellow eyes. Hermione, who was sat closest, got up and pulled the window open, as the small owl hopped onto her forearm.

"It's Hermes!" Ron exclaimed, and the little screech owl fixed its yellow eyes on him, hooting softly in response.

"Percy's owl?" Hermione asked, as she reached down and took a very long, slender package, tied with string, from Hermes' leg, and handed it to Ron, as she sat down, and the owl flew up onto the back of her chair. As he watched it, Harry felt a sad little pang and thought of Hedwig, but was distracted when Ron began to read aloud from a little note, attached to the thin package.

_Dear Ron, _

_Father and I were searching Malfoy Manor for evidence, and we found these – I think you and Hermione may be interested in them. I only hope Hermes was up to the flight, it's a big package for him, but I didn't trust Errol not to break them en route._

_Hoping you are well,_

_Percy_

Everyone watched in curiosity as Ron opened untied the string, and unwrapped the package. He let out a cheerful whoop, and Hermione gasped, as two wands rolled out into his lap.

"Bloody hell!" he exclaimed, as he picked up Hermione's elegantly-carved vinewood wand and passed it to her, then picked up his own, swishing the willow wand around and only stopping when a jet of red sparks came inches from Neville's nose.

"How did he manage that?" Ginny asked, incredulously.

"The Snatchers took them when we were taken to Malfoy Manor," Hermione murmured, "Bellatrix must have taken them when she searched the Snatchers and never got rid of them..."

"Well, good old Percy!" Ron said, far more cheerful than he had been before, as they both tucked their wands into their pockets, and sat down. Hermes hooted happily, took an affectionate nip at Hermione's hair, then took off from the back of the armchair and swooped out of the window. They watched the owl dip behind the Astronomy Tower and out of sight, then turned back to the conversation, having completely forgotten the matter at hand.

"Erm...where were we?" Harry said, having been caught up in Ron and Hermione's cheerful reunion with their wands.

"Planning the holidays," Hermione replied, "But I guess we don't need to visit Ollivander's anymore. Still, it couldn't hurt to visit Diagon Alley, could it?" The others shook their heads, and agreed that no, it couldn't. Then, thoroughly out of ideas for how to occupy four months of time, they began to search around for a new topic of conversation.

The rest of the day passed, it occurred to Harry, in a haze of good cheer, which did his anxious, rather guilty state some good, and allowed him to forget the last night's dreams. For the rest of the morning, they chatted away – the boys discussed Kingsley's offer and agreed that they would most likely take him up on it; the girls, in turn, discussed which NEWTs they would be taking next year; talk turned to the Ministry, with Hermione and Luna getting into a friendly argument about Rufus Scrimgeour's nocturnal habits, after the latter expressed her relief at no longer having a vampire for a Minister – in the end, they both agreed that Thicknesse was worse than Scrimgeour either way, and left it at that.

At midday, they descended to the Great Hall, and once again, Luna joined the Gryffindors for the time being, as they ate their fill, and headed out onto the grounds, still chatting about anything and everything, mostly, to Harry's surprise, reminiscing about their earlier years at Hogwarts – Ron spent at least fifteen minutes thoroughly embellishing the tale of Harry catching Neville's Remembrall, until the story saw Harry knocking Malfoy – screaming like a little girl – off his broom, then making a two-hundred foot dive, and catching the Remembrall an inch from the class's heads. Just as Harry was expecting a dragon to appear somewhere in the story, Hermione set the others right, much to Ron's chagrin.

By the evening, they were all lounging by the side of the lake, just as Harry and Ginny had done that morning – except Harry felt far happier about it than he had then. The fluffy white clouds were now tinged silver, and the sky itself was burning a bright, peach-like colour as the sun began to set.

"I'm telling you, I punched Lockhart! Knocked him clean out!" Ron protested, as the latest of his tales was unravelled. Harry and Ginny were curled up in the shade of the old willow, and Neville was lying side by side with Luna, her hand in his, as the third couple engaged in another mock argument.

"Funny, at the time you said your wand backfired..." Hermione teased, grinning at Ron.

"Charlie's wand," Ron muttered, "And anyway, that was after he woke up!"

"Of course it was, Ron."

"I'm telling you, I did, I- c'mon Harry, tell her!"

"Hey, I'm staying out of this!" Harry called, laughing at his two best friends, as he ran a hand through Ginny's hair, the sweet scent filling his head, and calming the morning's nerves.

"I'm _sure _you did, Ron, whatever you say – Ron? Ron!"

Hermione screamed as Ron picked her up unceremoniously, carried her for a few metres, and then dropped her into the very edge of the lake. She emerged, spluttering and laughing, as Ron began to laugh too, and turned to the other two boys.

"Oh, come on, can't you spot a cue?" he chuckled, as Neville and Harry both looked up, grinning.

"Yeah, but I don't have a death wish," Neville laughed, and as if to prove his point, Hermione swept up out of the water, grabbing Ron around the neck and shoulders, and dragging him in backwards. As they both emerged, soaking wet, Harry looked down at Ginny, still grinning.

"Don't even _think_ about it," Ginny whispered, and his grin widened, as he swept her up in his arms and carried her over to the very edge of the lake.

"Do you trust me?" he whispered.

"_NO!_" she screamed in response, and he leapt forward, plunging both of them into the cool water. Ginny screamed for a few moments, then went under. By the time she re-appeared, with her flaming red hair drenched, and plastered to her head and neck, she was laughing, and flung her arms around him, trying in vain to drag him down again, but failing.

"Come on!" Ron roared to the bank once more, as he surfaced, with Hermione still clinging onto him, "Scared of water, Neville?"

"No," Neville smirked, "but I guess you didn't know the plumbing empties into the lake..."

Luna began to choke with laughter, as Neville's smirk widened to a full grin, and the four in the water looked at each other. After a few moments, Harry, Ginny and Hermione had reached a general consensus, and dived on Ron, dunking him under the water once more. As he resurfaced, spluttering madly and red in the face, they were already climbing out of the water, while Neville and Luna rolled around, laughing at the utterly dishevelled Ron.

With the sun half-covered by the horizon, they wound their way back up to the castle. Harry had swept Ginny up in his arms again, and she was resting her head against his shoulder, looking utterly content. Ron, in mock anger at his dunking, had picked Hermione up in a slightly less romantic fireman's lift, flinging her over his shoulder as she made a futile attempt to protest between fits of laughter. Luckily for all concerned, the common room was empty, so they managed to avoid any awkward questions. Harry put Ginny back on her feet, and she departed for her dorm, as Harry headed for his. Ron made his excuses ("Well, Harry'll be using the bathroom in our dormitory") and headed off after Hermione. Seamus and Dean were both still out and about, and Neville had gone to take Luna to Ravenclaw Tower, so Harry was quite alone as he grabbed a fresh set of clothes from his bag, headed for the bathroom, and began to peel off his sodden shirt, feeling thoroughly happy.

Whatever his dreams threw at him tonight, these were good memories, for him to cherish.


	11. Chapter 11: Night Terrors

"_Lily, take Harry and go! It's him! Go! Run! I'll hold him off!"_

_Harry tossed and turned in his bed, consumed within dreams, as he heard the unmistakeable sound of a body hitting the floor, and felt his one-year-old self being lowered into his crib. Just as quickly, the scene shifted to Malfoy Manor, as he and Ron listened to Hermione's tortured screams; then, it was the graveyard, and he was screaming this time, as Cedric Diggory's body slumped and hit the floor; now, his mind was conjuring images of its own, not memories, as he imagined the grizzled, smirking face of Antonin Dolohov over Lupin's body. He yelled again, and then became aware of voices, drifting in and out of his vision, familiar voices._

"_Harry..." he shuddered, as Fred Weasley's voice reached his ears._

"_Harry..." called Lupin, an ethereal hand reaching out, grasping at his own, grasping at life._

"_Harry..." came the voices; Moody, Tonks, Colin, Cedric, and even Albus Dumbledore..._

"_HARRY!" shouted another voice._

With a jolt, he awoke, and realised that the calls had been from another, very real voice. Neville Longbottom was stood anxiously over Harry's bed, looking very nervous and slightly scared. Only now did Harry realise his twisting and turning had left the sheets contorted, coiled around in an odd shape, and drenched in sweat.

"I... Neville? Where am I?" he said, stupidly.

"The dormitory... your bed?"

"Oh... right."

"Harry, are you alright? I came up from the common room and you were screaming..."

"Bad dreams," he muttered, and to his surprise, Neville nodded sagely.

"Tell me about it... Anyway, it's almost lunch, Ginny's waiting for you."

"Right," Harry said, grunting, and extricating himself from the tangled sheets, "Tell her I'll be down in a minute."

As Neville nodded, and made for the door, another little voice in Harry's head chimed up, and words seemed to escape his lips free of his own volition.

"Neville? Don't mention this to her. She'll only worry."

Neville nodded uncertainly, but nodded nonetheless. As he disappeared from sight, Harry checked the battered old watch of Fabian Prewett, and found that it was almost midday. With a sigh, he crossed the dormitory to the bathroom door, and went for a shower.

Half an hour later, when he emerged, Ginny had left the common room, apparently tired of waiting. Slowly, still trying to push the night's voices out of his head, he headed for the Great Hall. When he arrived, he found Molly, Ron, Bill, Fleur, Charlie and Ginny Weasley grouped together, along with Hermione, Neville and Luna. Anxious to avoid questions about his absence, he sat down at the very end, next to Bill, who nodded to him and began to load a plate with roast beef and chicken, before handing it to Harry. As Harry tore gratefully into the food, Mrs Weasley seemed to notice him for the first time.

"Ah, Harry, dear. Sleep well?" He nodded and gulped down a mouthful of food, as Neville shot him a sympathetic glance, and shrugged.

"Shouldn't we tell Harry what we've planned so far?" Neville said, and Harry was grateful to him for changing the subject.

"Yes, yes, of course," Molly muttered, and then continued, "Ron said you all needed to visit Diagon Alley, so we thought we'd all go tomorrow. The only problem is getting there... I can Apparate with one person side-along, so can Bill, Charlie, and Fleur, but we'd have to make two or three trips..."

"Actually," Hermione said, quietly, "I've got my Apparition license too, and all three of us were Apparating to get around last year."

"What?" Molly said, apparently surprised – Harry didn't know how _else_ she imagined they'd been getting around – and staring from Harry to Ron. "Without your license?"

"Apparate without a license, or get done in by You-Know-Who. Tough choice," Ron admonished, and Molly looked rather taken aback.

"Well... I suppose we could risk a couple of unlicensed trips. I imagine Kingsley's guessed you could Apparate already, how _else _could you have been getting around?" she muttered, as though thinking it through for herself for the first time. Ron looked like he wanted to mention the dragon, but Hermione shot him a warning glare, and he stayed silent. "So, that just leaves Neville, Ginny and Luna to go by Side-Along. I can take Ginny..."

"We'll take Neville and Luna," Bill volunteered, nodding to himself and Fleur, "You want to go to Gringotts, right?"

"Yeah," Neville nodded.

"Best if I go with you then. The goblins aren't in too good a mood these days. Something about a break-in," he muttered, looking pointedly at Ron, Hermione and Harry in turn.

"Well then, it's settled. We'll go tomorrow morning. Does ten o'clock sound alright to everyone?" Mrs Weasley asked, and everyone nodded vague assent. Something was bothering Harry's still rather sleepy mind, though. Throughout the entire meal, Ginny had hardly looked at him once, even when he arrived in the hall so long after everyone else. As they walked out of the hall, she didn't leave with him, but stayed behind with her mother, while he left with Ron and Hermione. For once, however, he voiced his fears to them, and received incredulous stares in response.

"Harry, you can be really thick sometimes, you know that?" Hermione said.

"Thank goodness, I thought it was just me," Ron muttered, but was silenced with a glare.

"She's acting like there's nothing going on so Molly doesn't get suspicious," she continued, speaking very slowly, as if to a small child.

"Can you blame her?" Ron added.

"Oh... yeah, I think you're right," Harry murmured, realising he had blown the whole thing out of proportion, and wondering how many other times in his past he could have dispelled his worries if he'd only _talked_ about them.

"Of course we're right. She's totally smitten with you, Harry, that isn't just going to stop," Hermione said, rolling her eyes.

Sure enough, twenty minutes after they got back to the common room and curled up in the armchairs by the fire, Ginny returned, muttered something about an "escape", and kissed Harry on the cheek, drawing up a chair to join them. With his nerves calmed, Harry began to chat away once more, trying to forget his dreams. He didn't mention them to Ron or Hermione, because he knew they would do exactly what Ginny had done the day before – sympathise and patronise and assure him it wasn't his fault.

The weather seemed to be reflecting Harry's innermost thoughts – steel-grey clouds had been rolling across the sky at lunch, and as the afternoon wore on, the heavens opened, and the castle was pelted with rain and hailstones.

* * *

><p>Ron had noticed Harry's attempts to appear cheerful, and had guessed why he was putting up the pretence. He'd seen it countless times before – most clearly, he thought, in the weeks after Sirius' death. Harry was feeling guilty, and it didn't take a genius to work out what he was feeling guilty <em>about<em>. Nonetheless, he pretended not to notice. Harry would come around eventually; he would tell them when he was ready. In the meantime, he sat back in his armchair, with one hand in Hermione's, dangling over the side, and was content to chat away on anything and everything, just like the day before. He was distracted, however, by a loud shuffling noise, a few cries, and the sound of a door swinging open.

All eyes turned to George Weasley as he stepped into the common room. A half-drained bottle of firewhiskey was still swinging in his hand, as, to everyone's surprise, Angelina Johnson followed him through the door. George was red-faced and furious, and tear tracks were clearly visible on Angelina's cheeks.

"George, just listen," she pleaded as she followed him out of the door, shooting a pained glance at the four figures by the fire.

"I said go away," he muttered, in a dark, aggressive tone that was thoroughly unsuited to his usual, care-free persona.

"George, you can't just keep drinking like this!"

"Says who?" he said, raising his voice as he turned around to face her, and stared her down. She looked slightly cowed, and went quiet, but something in Ron was stirring – anger. He'd had enough of George acting like this, drinking himself into a stupor every day and night. Very deliberately, he stood up and paced over towards him.

"You should bloody listen to her, George!" he shouted, and now his brother rounded on him with an accusatory glare.

"Shut up," George said, slurring slightly. By way of a response, Ron took a step forward, and drew his wand.

"_Reducto!" _he yelled, to gasps from the others, and the glass bottle in George's hand shattered, showering glass and whiskey to the floor, as George himself swelled with rage.

"What the hell did you do that for?" he roared, but Ron barely blinked, feeling emboldened.

"Fred was our brother too!" he shouted back, waving a hand from Ginny to himself, and continuing, "He bloody died for you, and you're paying him back by drinking yourself to death!"

Everyone fell silent, as the harshness of Ron's words began to hit home. George gave him an odd look, somewhere between anger and shame. Then, without warning, he punched Ron in the face with a ferocity he usually reserved for Bludgers. Angelina and Hermione both let out little screams, Ginny gasped in horror, and he heard Harry kick his chair aside as he stood up. Before Harry could reach either of them, however, Ron had launched himself at his older brother, furiously punching his head and chest as they grappled, and George hit him hard in the stomach with his knee. Another savage punch from George, and Ron felt his upper lip burst, spilling warm blood into his mouth as he crashed a punch of his own into George's ribs. They had only been fighting for about thirty seconds when someone else reached them.

"_IMPEDIMENTA!"_ Harry roared, and Ron felt himself catapulted several feet across the floor, as George was torn away in the opposite direction.

As the two found their feet, Harry was stood between them, wand raised, glaring at both Weasley brothers. Ron was still staring down the furious George, ignoring the warm dribble along his chin that he knew was blood. After a moment, George snorted contemptuously, swept around, and stormed out of the portrait hole. Angelina made to follow him, but found it slammed in her face. As she dropped to the floor, sobbing uncharacteristically, Ron rounded on Harry.

"Why did you do that?" he said, in the same harsh tone he had accused George in.

"What, you think he would've listened if you'd beaten him unconscious? If we want to do anything about George, we need to be smart, have a plan, not just beat the message onto his face."

Ron nodded. He wasn't _really_ angry at Harry for intervening; it was just his anger at George spilling over. He pressed a hand to his bleeding lip, and winced slightly. He muttered something about cleaning it up, and turned to head for the dormitories, as Hermione insisted he use her bathroom, so that she could use a healing spell she'd been practising once he was done. Ginny was sat next to Angelina with an arm around her, as Harry paced over to the two, putting his wand away, and looking concerned. Mulling it over in his head, Ron had a feeling Harry wanted to plan and aid George's recovery to take his mind off his own thoughts...

Ten minutes later, Ron had doused his face with cold water in the bathroom of Hermione's dormitory. The angry red flush was gone from his cheeks, but his lip, no matter how hard he tried, would not stop bleeding. Finally, he headed back into the dormitory, resigning himself to letting Hermione test her healing spells on it. As she spotted him, she pulled out her wand, and beckoned for him to come closer.

"Come on, come on. Luna said these should work," she murmured, and Ron's eyes bulged.

"You learned the spells from _Luna_?" he asked – that did nothing to help his confidence. Hermione, however, ignored him.

"_Tergeo,_" she whispered, but, after an initial cool rush against his mouth, he could still feel a shooting pain in the soft flesh of his lip. Seeing his doubtful expression, she continued, "That was just to clean the blood away. Now then... _Episkey!_"

There was a burning sensation in Ron's lip, followed by another rush of numb cold. When the sensation stopped, his lip was tingling slightly, but the pain was gone. Hermione was beaming proudly, and Ron had an awful feeling she'd never used these spells before, and had been expecting worse results.

"Good as new," she murmured, and kissed his lips as if to prove it. They both smiled, but when she pulled away, sitting down on the edge of her bed, she had a concerned, almost nervous look on her face. Quite suddenly, she said, "You're really worried about George, aren't you?"

"Yeah," Ron admitted, almost involuntarily, "He's not himself. He just sits in his room all day moping, won't even speak to Lee or Charlie or Mum and Dad... I know he's meant to be grieving, that's natural, but he's shutting himself away and drinking non-stop..."

"You've never been drunk, have you?" Hermione asked, and Ron felt this question was almost as unprecedented as her first.

"Well, no, most I've had was when we toasted Mad-Eye."

"Alcohol acts as a pain suppressant, in more ways than one. George is bound to be feeling physical pain from his injuries, but that's nothing compared to the emotional pain of losing Fred. The firewhiskey numbs both – while he's drinking it, he can forget, and he doesn't have to feel the pain..." she trailed off, as Ron looked curiously at her.

"How come you're such an expert? You've never been drunk either..."

"Drink problems are a lot more common in Muggle society than they are for wizards," she said, sadly.

"So... before we, or Angelina, or whoever, can get through to him, we need to stop him drinking?"

"And that won't be so easy because it means him accepting the pain..."

"_Great_..."

By the time Ron and Hermione re-entered the common room, Harry and Ginny had moved Angelina to one of the room's scarlet sofas, and were sat either side of her. Pulling chairs over from the corner near the fire, they sat down opposite the three on the sofa, and began to sit in silence, unsure of what to do or say next.

"We'll help," said Ron, finally.

"What?" Angelina was sitting up, her face still marked with tear tracks, and looked rather confused.

"We'll help sort George out, get him back on the straight and narrow," Hermione said, gently.

"Thanks," Angelina murmured, repressing another sob. "Just don't punch him this time, okay Ron?"

They spent the rest of the day discussing just how they were going to perform this miraculous feat. Everyone agreed with Hermione that they had to stop George drinking before they could even _attempt_ anything else, and they began to discuss ways of curbing his addiction, some practical (usually from Hermione) and some less so (usually from Ron, including the use of poison, and ignoring the unwanted side-effect of possible death which particular plan entailed). The problems were large, and there were many of them – firstly, they would need to _find_ George, wherever he had gone. Then, they needed ways of coercing or forcing him to come with them, and a place or method to make sure he couldn't drink. All that was before they even _addressed _the issue of Fred...

Having eaten a quick supper delivered by Kreacher, rather than go down to the Great Hall, they discussed various plans and problems for another few hours, then retired to bed, with Ginny and Hermione slipping off to their own dormitories, Harry and Ron heading for the boys', and Angelina leaving Hogwarts to Apparate back to her own home. As they clambered into bed, Ron was thinking of the next day.

"Hey, Harry. Diagon Alley tomorrow," he said, with a hint of excitement.


	12. Chapter 12: Diagon Alley

**A/N: This chapter is a bit short, but rest assured, the next one is much bigger, this one just had to end on the cliffhanger hence it ends a bit prematurely.**

**Chapter 12 - Diagon Alley**

Harry shared Ron's enthusiasm about the trip to Diagon Alley. He loved Hogwarts, it was his first real home, but he would be glad to escape the memories of what had happened here, even if only for a few hours. After all the talk of George, and how to break his grief, Harry's dreams focused on Fred more clearly and more terribly they had before. He was extremely glad for interruptions in the night, as they broke him out of his nightmares. Neville traipsed in an hour after Ron and Harry had come to bed, and went to sleep as quietly as possible. An hour or two after _that_, Dean and Seamus staggered in from a trip to Hogsmeade, and accidentally set off a Zonko's firework that showered the room in golden sparks, waking everyone up, and giving Harry at least another blissful half hour awake before he had to return to his dreams.

When he finally woke, he felt rather groggy, and a bit lethargic. A quick glance at his watch, on the bedside table, told him it was nine o'clock, giving them an hour before they headed for Diagon Alley. He swung out of bed, shook Ron awake (to a confused moan of "Gerrof', Charlie"), and headed for the bathroom. He quickly splashed his face and arms with water, then emerged back into the dormitory, where Neville had woken up, and got changed. Once the other two boys were changed and ready, they headed for the common room, but not before Ron, tired and vengeful, had left a Weasley Whizbang at the end of Seamus' bed, setting it to go off in ten minutes with a tap of his wand.

After joining Hermione and Ginny in the common room, picking up a quick breakfast in the Great Hall, and crossing the grounds, they arrived at the boar-topped gates with ten minutes to spare. Predictably, Molly had arrived early, and was looking around anxiously, as Luna stood with her, looking around in curiosity, although what she expected to see at the familiar old gates was beyond Harry. One minute _past _ten, Bill, Fleur and Charlie appeared, "fashionably late" in the latter's own words. Charlie had been staying at Shell Cottage, and the trio had chosen to meet their family at Hogwarts, rather than Apparating directly to Diagon Alley.

"Right then," Molly said, bustling around her family (both actual and adopted) and their friends. "We'll meet inside the Leaky Cauldron, remember that. Bill, Fleur, you go first."

Nodding, Bill extending his arm for Neville, and Fleur did the same for Luna. Once the two "passengers" were in position, they span and disappeared with a popping sound.

"You three next," Molly continued, nodding at Ron, Harry and Hermione. They stepped forward obediently, and turned on the spot. Harry saw Ginny wink at him, unseen by her mother, before the familiar sucking sensation gripped him, and he was catapulted away.

To Harry's mild pleasure and surprise, they had all hit their target. Ron was sprawled out on the floor, and Neville was looking green, but otherwise, they all reached the Leaky Cauldron without a hitch. The pub itself was a sorry sight – one of the tables in the corner was lying in fractured pieces, and the bar was deserted, with no sign of any patrons, or of the aging landlord, Tom.

"That was quite nice, actually," Luna said airily, as Fleur raised an eyebrow at her. It seemed Fleur, like Harry, doubted anyone could describe the feeling of Apparating as "nice".

They filed out into the courtyard to make some space inside, and waited for the last three Weasleys to arrive. Sure enough, just as the last of them, Ron, stepped out of the bar, Molly appeared, heralded by another pop, with Ginny in tow. Charlie, however, did not appear, and they spent a minute or so waiting anxiously, until Bill turned around and let out a chuckle. Harry turned too, and couldn't help laughing himself. Charlie Weasley was sat on the edge of a low roof bordering the courtyard, swinging his legs over the edge and looking quite as airy and distant as Luna. Finally, he looked at his family in mock surprise, with a face that said, _"What? You were looking for ME?"_

Molly flinched slightly, as Charlie gripped the edge of the roof in both hands and jumped down effortlessly, dusting himself off as he walked over to the others, muttering something about a "miscalculation". Harry had a feeling his "miscalculation" had been deliberate, and stifled another laugh, as Bill stepped up to the far wall and jabbed the "key" to Diagon Alley into the bricks. As they twisted and rolled apart, the large group hurried through, emerging onto a rather grey-looking scene.

When Harry had first seen Diagon Alley, it had impressed him beyond his wildest dreams, a place singularly full of colour and magic. Now, it looked rather gloomy. People were still flocking up and down the street, but the buildings themselves seemed subdued, and the grey, overcast sky wasn't the only thing casting a shadow over the area. Ollivander's was, as Hermione had said, just starting up again, but the place looked somewhat forlorn, as if abandoned, although Harry was sure Garrick Ollivander was in there somewhere, probably flitting about shakily between row upon row of wands. Florean Fortescue's ice cream parlour was boarded up, and half of the building had been torn away by an exploding curse – no-one had really felt like repairing the place, now that Florean himself was dead. Even Weasley's Wizard Wheezes failed to look cheerful – the colourful storefront was covered in dirt and grime after months of neglect. Harry noticed, with a sad jolt, that the doors had been blown open, and much of the interior appeared to have been scattered around or destroyed, presumably while the Weasleys were being hunted by Death Eaters. For the first time that day, Harry was _glad _George was absent – he doubted he could have coped with seeing his and his brother's work in that state.

The party began to divide up after a minute or so of looking around. Molly pulled the hood of a travelling cloak over her head, as she and Ginny went to check the extent of the damage to the twins' store. Bill, Fleur, Neville and Luna had disappeared off towards Gringotts – even the huge, marble bank hadn't escaped unscathed, with a huge hole in the roof where the trio had burst out on dragonback. Charlie disappeared into the Magical Menagerie, and Hermione dragged Harry and Ron into Flourish and Blotts, ignoring the fact that neither of them were returning to Hogwarts next year, and thus neither needed school books. After almost an hour of trying to keep up with Hermione (who seemed determined to find the most difficult book possible for each of her five NEWT choices: Transfiguration, Charms, Defence Against the Dark Arts, Potions and Arithmancy), Harry managed to duck out of the store, leaving a bemused Ron to deal with her by himself. By now, the grey clouds were pouring rain over Diagon Alley, and as he wove his way between people moving along the street, Harry was pleasantly surprised at the lack of attention he received. Of course, one or two people stared, or spoke to their friends in hushed whispers about who was walking in front of them, but in general, everyone was pulling hoods down low and focusing on getting out of the rain, so a scruffy-looking seventeen-year-old, no matter what his achievements, did not draw their eye.

Reaching the other side of the street, he headed for a boarded-up shop opposite Flourish and Blotts, and stood, leaning against the wall, with the shop's roof covering him just enough to deflect the rain away and leave him fairly dry. He could still vaguely see the forms of Mrs Weasley and Ginny inside Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, at the end of the street, but the others were all still away doing whatever they had to do, as he stood in boredom and waited for the rain to stop. Despite the sudden deluge, and still darker clouds that seemed to warn of a thunderstorm, the air was warm, and seemed to crackle with caged energy.

Harry took to people-watching, a hobby he had pretty much perfected in his youth, when he needed to occupy himself during long afternoons away from the Dursleys. However, the wizards and witches that passed were mostly huddled under travelling cloaks, various shades of grey and brown, with faces hidden from the rain, which rendered his attempts pretty much useless. Ten dull minutes passed until, finally, Ron and Hermione emerged from Flourish and Blotts, with no books in sight – something Ron looked very annoyed about. The pair had just begun to cross the street, throwing up arms to shield their heads against the rain, when Harry spotted something very odd.

A burly wizard, several metres away from Harry, had pulled down his hood, and stopped in the middle of the street. His robes and the travelling cloak he had thrown over them were pitch-black. As Harry's eyes roved up to the man's slightly pale face, he saw unkempt, slightly oily black hair, now sodden with rain, and rough black stubble along his jaw and lips that told Harry he probably hadn't shaved in a few days. Only as the man turned his head to Harry did he recognise the glinting grey eyes of Antonin Dolohov. Harry stared at him in shock, and Dolohov stared back, looking equally shocked. Harry went for his wand, but Dolohov's was already in his sleeve, and he had whipped it out in a fraction of a second. Harry couldn't hear his words over the pouring rain, but he could see them on the Death Eater's lips.

"_Confringo!"_

Harry felt white heat on his face, as the street exploded, to a chorus of fire and screaming.


	13. Chapter 13: Antonin Dolohov

**A/N: Cue the fight scene... And folks, please review, even if it's just one or two words, or even if it's criticism. Every little helps, and it's a big boost to an author's desire to keep writing.**

**Chapter 13 - Antonin Dolohov**

Harry's head was pounding. When he finally opened his eyes, he found he was slumped against the wall of the boarded-up shop. The air was still hot with the after-effects of Dolohov's curse – the rain pouring down was mingled with steam floating up, and a few fires still burned defiantly across the street, flickering as the rain assaulted them.

After a few moments, Harry pulled himself to his feet, and saw a scene of utter devastation. Bodies were strewn across the street – some were bloodied and obviously beyond rescue, others were sporting horrific burns and injuries. His first, panicked thought was for Ron and Hermione. To his horror, he saw them both sprawled against the wall of Flourish and Blotts, but was slightly relieved as he saw signs of life. Ron's arm was badly gashed and burned, but he was clinging defiantly to Hermione, whose injuries were far worse. She was burned, like Ron, but was also fighting for consciousness, feebly struggling to breathe, as a small trail of blood spilled from the corner of her mouth.

Dolohov had paused momentarily, listening to the screams and cries, but as two whip-like cracks sounded, further down the street, he darted into an alleyway next to Flourish and Blotts.

"Out of the- out of the way! This is an emergency!" Harry doubled over, clutching his pained midriff, as Percy Weasley's voice drifted over the heads of the terrified onlookers. There was a loud burst of sparks, a few more screams, and another voice rose up, yelling even louder than Percy.

"Auror Office! Get out of the bloody way!"

The Auror, a young man with a goatee and a black ponytail, had far more success at getting through the crowd. As he reached the epicentre, he glanced at Harry, who pointed into the nearby alley and moaned "Dolohov". Suddenly paling, the Auror nodded and took off in pursuit without a moment's hesitation. Percy parted the crowd a few seconds later, and Harry was afforded a tiny glimpse of Molly and Ginny, both looking shaken and running towards the commotion from the end of the street. Percy looked just as pale and shocked as his Auror companion, and took one look at the scene before sending three bursts of lime-green light spiralling into the air, which Harry would later find out signalled for Healers, to treat the wounded.

At the time, however, Harry was considering none of these things. Dolohov's face was imprinted on his mind, and all his thoughts of avenging the Prewetts, avenging Lupin, avenging all his other victims came rushing into his mind, perfectly punctuated by the sight of Ron, clinging to Hermione's fragile, bleeding body. Before anyone could stop him, Harry had darted forward, ducked Percy's arm as he tried to stop him, and sprinted into the alleyway, chased by a desperate roar from Percy, and two screams that he guessed were Ginny and Molly.

Harry, however, was singularly fixed on finding Dolohov, and hurting him as badly as possible. The alley stretched on into the very depths of Wizarding London, it seemed, and a long way ahead, he could make out the Auror's outline. There was a vague shadow still further ahead that might have been Dolohov, but he couldn't be sure. He ploughed on, as the heavy rain began to soak through to his skin, and his feet slipped slightly on the rain-soaked ground. Nonetheless, Harry continued, spurred on by a reckless need for vengeance, and he was sure the Auror's figure was getting closer, bit by bit.

Just as lightning broke overhead, accompanied by an ear-splitting rumble of thunder, Harry saw both of the figures ahead of him veer right into what appeared to be an open space, a courtyard, perhaps. There were several flashes of bright light, as the two duelling wizards cast flickering silhouettes on the far wall, and then one of them doubled over, quite clearly wounded. Silently praying it was Dolohov, he saw another series of bright lights, and grabbed his own wand from his pocket, as he approached the open courtyard himself.

He almost slipped over in his attempts to stop as he rushed into the courtyard, wand drawn. Dolohov was stood with his back to Harry, and with a flick of his wand sent the dazed Auror crashing sideways into a wall. Blindly, Harry swung his wand towards Dolohov, and a burst of red flames erupted from the tip, causing the Death Eater to stagger forwards, caught completely by surprise. Harry was surprised too – he had cast the curse non-verbally, without even thinking about it, and still wasn't sure which curse he'd used...

Dolohov span, and Harry saw him raise his wand, tightening his grip on the handle, which was adorned with an ivory skull. Harry aimed his own wand back, gripping it very tightly, blood pounding furiously through his veins, as his mind began to catch up, and realised how bad his odds looked. Dolohov was one of the most dangerous Death Eaters – not so long ago, he had fought Harry, Hermione and Neville all at once, and they had only defeated him due to a distraction, with Neville's wand and nose broken, and Hermione almost dead. Again, at the Luchino Cafe, he had incapacitated both Harry and Ron, and had only been beaten when Hermione took him by surprise. Even more worryingly, Harry knew he had beaten both Mad-Eye Moody and Remus Lupin in duels, so how was Harry supposed to beat him? Nonetheless, he had to try, and for once his fury was working _with_ him, not against him – as Dolohov made the first move, Harry's angry muscles seemed to respond on impulse, as if a higher power was moving them like the limbs of a marionette.

"_Confringo!_"

"_Protego!_"

Dolohov sent another burst of roaring, orange flames at Harry, but they bounced away from his hastily-cast Shield Charm, and took out the wall to Harry's left, showering both men with dust and bits of brick. He tried again, with another roar of _"Confringo"_, but Harry deflected it once more, and this time Dolohov had to duck to avoid his own rebounding spell, which whistled into the rooftops behind him and exploded, sending a torrent of flames and roof tiles into the air.

"_Expulso!_"Harry roared, taking the offensive.

"_Protego!_"came Dolohov's cry in response, deflecting the shot away.

"_Stupefy!_"Harry shouted, but Dolohov sent the jet of red light flying away, this time non-verbally, and did the same as Harry fired two more Stunning Spells at him.

"_Incendio!_" Harry cried, in desperation, but with another flick of his wand, the Death Eater seemed to "catch" the flames that erupted from Harry's wand, and sent them flying back at him. Harry dived to one side, and fell hard on the stone floor, but before Dolohov could turn and curse him in his vulnerable position, he had fixed his own wand over Dolohov and thought _"Impedimenta"_ – Dolohov froze, mid-curse, and a moment later was hurled to the ground.

Harry found his feet, slipping slightly, and shot off a blind curse at Dolohov. He heard it crack against the far wall, as his opponent sent his own curse back, and a wave of heat on his back told Harry it had only just missed. He circled around, wand raised, and came to face the Death Eater again. They stared at each other, panting heavily, before Dolohov smirked.

"_Avada Ke-_" he began, but a moment later Harry had sent him tumbling sideways with a silent, instinctive wave of his wand. Dolohov quickly got to his feet, and his smirk had widened. Clearly, the famous Harry Potter was proving more of a challenge than he had thought. It seemed to Harry that Dolohov enjoyed challenges...

"_Reducto!_"Harry yelled, but the smirking Death Eater ducked aside, Harry's curse smashed the window of one of the adjacent buildings, and Dolohov sent an ice-blue jet of light at Harry without uttering a word. Harry desperately swung out his wand to block it, and to his relief, a simple non-verbal Shield Charm deflected it, steering it down to the floor, where it exploded in a shower of ice that froze the very raindrops surrounding it, sending them twinkling to the floor like tiny diamonds.

Harry had to dive aside as Dolohov made a slashing motion, and a familiar burst of purple flames tore through the air where he had been standing moments ago. Dolohov tried again, and this time Harry stood his ground with a mutter of "_Protego_" – the force of Dolohov's seemingly signature curse knocked him back a few steps, but failed to break the shield.

Apparently tiring of his game now, Dolohov circled around, and Harry moved in the opposite direction, maintaining his distance to the Death Eater, who swung his wand again. Several pieces of tile and brick, rubble from the earlier fighting, shot towards Harry's head. He blew two of the largest pieces out of the air with a Knockback Jinx, and ducked as a shard of roof tile smashed onto the wall behind him. While he was ducking out of the way, Dolohov hurled another signature jet of violet flames at him, but Harry managed to deflect it to the ground with yet another Shield Charm. He came around to face Dolohov again, and they roared their spells over the latest thunderclap.

"_Impedimenta!" _

"_Serpensortia!"_

To Harry's delight, the Death Eater tumbled backwards onto the stone floor, but his mood turned for the worse once more, as a long, lithe, livid serpent erupted in mid-air where Dolohov's wand had been, and shot forward across the rain-soaked courtyard. He tried to aim a curse at it, but without warning it coiled up and leapt at him. He felt fangs pierce his neck, and warm blood seeping onto his shoulder. With a cry, he lunged sideways, dislodging the snake and dropping his wand, as he heard Dolohov get to his feet. The snake hissed, and leapt forward again, but half-way to Harry's neck, a golden flash erupted around it, and the snake was gone, as an eagle screeched and veered upwards from the spot where it had been, and Percy Weasley burst into the courtyard. With a look of fury, he waved his wand at Dolohov, and the eagle dived, clawing at the Death Eater's face before exploding in a shower of golden sparks.

Percy edged into the duel, as Harry grabbed his wand and stood up. Dolohov was livid – his cheek had been gashed open by the eagle, blood-red against his pale face. Harry was bleeding too, but luckily for him, the snake had only pierced flesh, and had missed his windpipe. He glanced at Percy, who nodded grimly at him, and they moved together, circling left as Dolohov moved to their right.

"_Stupefy!_" they roared in unison, and the Death Eater was knocked back a foot or two as he blocked the double Stunning Spell. Over another burst of thunder, and the continuous hiss of falling rain, Harry could hear more voices, and hurried footsteps coming down the alley, but kept his mind focused on the duel.

Percy lunged forward with a cry of "_Incendio!_" which Dolohov deflected easily, but it had been a feint, for moments later, Harry hit Dolohov with a non-verbal Knockback Jinx, slamming him against the wall of the nearest building. He was still on his feet, and the hurried footsteps were getting closer – as he and Percy circled around, Harry got a clear view, and saw Ginny and Molly Weasley rushing down the alley, looking panicked. Percy seemed to spot them too, for he sprang forward, apparently wanting to finish the duel before they stumbled into the battleground.

"_Expulso!_" Percy yelled, but Dolohov dodged aside easily, and the curse smashed into the far wall, shaking the courtyard.

"_Protego!_"Harry cried, as their opponent attempted to strike back at Percy with another ice-blue curse, which deflected off into the sky. Percy shot Harry a grateful smile, which hardened into a grimace as he looked back at Dolohov.

Seconds later, Ginny burst into the courtyard, and before she could take in the scene before her, the smirking Dolohov sent a burst of violet flames at her. She screamed and dived for the floor as the curse burned inches from her head. Percy lunged towards her, landing on the stone floor with a painful thud as he roared "_Protego Maxima!_" and a glistening shield erupted, covering himself, his mother and his sister, and leaving Harry to go toe to toe with Dolohov.

Harry deflected two more bursts of purple fire, his fury at Dolohov growing, then seized his moment and sprang forwards. With a cry of "_Impedimenta!_" he stopped his opponent dead, and then made a vicious slashing movement with his wand.

"_SECTUMSEMPRA!_" he roared vengefully, and a vicious gash opened up across Dolohov's chest, as if slashed by an invisible sword. For a few moments it bled profusely, and Dolohov's blood mingled with the rainwater, before he began to fall, twisting sideways. Harry thought he was dropping dead, until he heard a whip-like crack, and the Death Eater disappeared in a blink.

Yelling in frustration, Harry sent a bright red curse sailing across the courtyard. It punched through the air where Dolohov had just Disapparated, and smashed into the far wall, bursting into scarlet flames, which were quickly extinguished by the falling rain. Behind him, Harry heard the Shield Charm collapse, and turned. Percy was bruised, and panting heavily, but was alright. Ginny had been lying on the floor in the same pose she fell in, but as she realised what had happened, she leapt up and ran to Harry, flinging her arms around him in relief, and gasping slightly as she felt warm blood trickling from his neck. Molly didn't seem to have noticed Ginny's affection; she was too busy hugging Percy. Finally, Percy broke away, and ran to check on the fallen Auror, shooting off another lime-green signal as he did.

Harry put his arms around Ginny and held her gratefully, but his gut was burning with anger. Once again, Dolohov had slipped the net...


	14. Chapter 14: St Mungo's

**Chapter 14 - St Mungo's**

It was an hour later. After Dolohov's escape, Percy and Harry had waited for the Healers to arrive for the wounded Auror, and then Apparated to St Mungo's themselves. Now, they were both standing outside the Spell Damage Ward on the Fourth Floor, with towels around their shoulders, accompanied by Bill and Arthur Weasley, and Kingsley Shacklebolt, as thunder and lightning continued to crash through the grey London sky.

"And you're _sure_ this wasn't a hit, Harry?" Bill said, nervously. On hearing the news, he and Kingsley had both assumed that Dolohov had been attempting to kill Harry, but Harry himself wasn't so sure.

"If it was, he botched it up," Harry muttered, "For a start, he cast that Blasting Curse down at the floor, not at me. I think he was going for numbers, not a particular person... Besides, how could he have known I'd be there?"

"And he ran," Percy added, "If it was a hit, you'd think he would have tried to finish Harry off, but he ran before Williamson and I even got to him."

Williamson, the young Auror Percy had arrived with, had been brought in by Healers, critically injured. Much to everyone's relief, the Healers pronounced he would make a full, if somewhat lengthy recovery. Unfortunately, they had not been so sure about Hermione. She had been badly burned, as had Ron, but those were easily treated. More seriously, she had suffered internal injuries and bleeding from her impact with the shop wall, and was still unconscious. Molly had insisted, despite the many protests, that Neville, Luna and Ginny Apparate back to the Burrow under Charlie and Fleur's care. She had taken Ginny by Side-along, and then returned to St Mungo's, leaving her and Ron – who had already been brought in for the treatment of his burns, and refused to leave Hermione – by the injured girl's bedside. Harry felt guilty about leaving her, but knew that Kingsley had to be informed of the morning's events.

"I think, according to what Harry saw, Antonin Dolohov was not expecting to run into Harry. Nonetheless, the fact remains that he _did _come to Diagon Alley with the intent to kill and maim as many people as possible," Kingsley said, in his usual, calm voice. "The question that occurs is..."

"Will he do it again?" Arthur interjected, finishing his sentence for him.

"Indeed. And how many other Death Eaters are prepared to do the same? The Death Eaters who fought their way out of Hogwarts after the battle were, as logic would dictate, some of the _best _fighters. Dolohov, of course, Selwyn, Yaxley, Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange, Thicknesse, if the Imperius Curse on him has yet to break..."

"I'd say Yaxley's the strongest of that lot," Bill said, thoughtfully, "but he's too smart to make a public attack. We want to look out for the crazy ones, not necessarily the powerful ones."

"_Whoever_ we look out for, I need to get the word out. Arthur, I could do with your help; two of us can get it done quicker than one. Percy, take the rest of the day off, get your strength back."

Kingsley nodded to Harry and Bill, then swept around and headed for the exit, clearly rather shaken by the day's revelation. Arthur shot a nervous smile at his sons and Harry, then turned to follow him. Harry was lost in thought for a moment, and looked at Percy. It was a sign of how much his exertion in the duel had drained him that he barely protested at the notion of a day off...

"Well, so much for a quiet life," Bill muttered, and let out a long sigh, as Molly Weasley appeared at the doors to the ward, closing them quietly behind her. When she finally spoke, she sounded hoarse, and close to tears.

"The Healers think Hermione stands a fair chance of recovering, but even if... even _when_ she recovers," she said, determinedly, "she might struggle with the exertion of spell work for a few weeks. The poor girl took the full force of that curse and then hit a solid wall..."

Molly trailed off, and Bill took a step towards her, putting an arm around her shoulders as tears began to creep into her eyes. Harry glanced through the small pane of glass in one of the ward's doors, and could just about see a brown-haired figure, limp in her bed. Flame-haired Ron was easily visible at her side, clasping her hand tightly, and looking even more shaken than Molly.

"Anyway..." Molly continued, her voice breaking slightly as she turned to Harry and Percy, "How are you two holding up?"

"I'm fine, Mum," Percy murmured, and Harry couldn't help noticing that he'd called her "Mum" instead of the usual, formal "Mother". It was beginning to hit him that Percy's epiphany had shaken his formerly stiff, serious personality.

"I'm alright," Harry muttered too, although he couldn't help rubbing his neck. It had stopped bleeding, at last, but the towel around his neck was stained crimson, and the Healer who had treated it had told him the two cursed puncture wounds would probably scar.

"Good, good," Molly mumbled, sounding as if she thought it was anything _but _good, "Let's get off home, then. Ron said he'd stay here, and keep an eye on... well..."

As Molly trailed off again, the three men nodded, and Bill took her by the arm, clearly not wanting to risk her Apparating in such a distracted state. A moment later, and with a little pop, they were gone. Percy took the towel from around his shoulders, and vanished it, then turned, waiting for Harry, who peeled off his own towel and followed suit. With a glance at Percy, and a mutual nod, Harry span around, and felt the familiar, swirling sensation of Apparition.

A fraction of a second later, he was standing in the kitchen of the Burrow, alongside Percy. Mrs Weasley had collapsed into one of the chairs, and Bill began to boil the kettle. Harry, however, headed into the sitting room, to find Neville, Luna, Ginny, Fleur and Charlie clustered around a battered radio set. As he entered, and found Ginny pulling him into another crushing hug, he realised they were listening to a news broadcast, waiting to hear the "official line" on what had happened:

_This is the Wizarding Wireless Network, with a special news bulletin._

_The Ministry of Magic has confirmed the rumours of an attack in the vicinity of Diagon Alley earlier this morning._

_The Interim Minister for Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt, released a statement just minutes ago, and described the explosion, at eleven o' clock this morning, as a "deliberate, cowardly, and abhorrent attack on innocent civilians". The Interim Minister named former Death Eater Antonin Dolohov as the man responsible for the attack, but also said that the Dark Mark was not cast over the scene of the crime, presumably because Dolohov was forced to flee by Aurors moments after casting his initial curse._

"Aurors?" Harry interrupted.

"Sounds better than 'the one Auror we have left', doesn't it?" Charlie shrugged.

_Healers from St Mungo's were immediately called to the scene, but the attack had already killed several bystanders. The official statement lists nine people dead, with another four undergoing treatment in hospital, including an Auror who was injured while attempting to apprehend Dolohov._

_We at the Wizarding Wireless Network will endeavour to keep you updated._

_And now, back to our regular programming –_

The radio fell silent, as Charlie turned it off abruptly. Everyone was rather solemn, and Harry guessed it was beginning to dawn on the Weasleys how close they had come to losing two more brothers, and how close they still were to losing Hermione. Finally, after a few tense minutes, they heard footsteps ascending the stairs, and moments later, Bill appeared in the sitting room, followed by Percy.

"Mum's gone to bed," he murmured, "she's pretty torn up about all this... Fleur, we should probably head back home."

"What about me and Luna?" Neville said, as Fleur nodded at Bill's suggestion.

"Mum says you're welcome to stay here, or if you want, Charlie can Apparate with you back to Hogsmeade." After a brief glance at each other, Neville and Luna seemed to reach a decision.

"No, we'll stay, if that's alright."

Harry was glad of that – he had a few things he wanted to talk to Neville about in private, and he had a feeling his and Luna's presence would go some way to calming Ginny down. Bill nodded silently and made to leave, flanked by Fleur and Percy. Before he reached the door, however, footsteps echoed from the stairs, and George ducked into the sitting room, answering Harry's question as to where he had fled to after his fight with Ron. He was scowling.

"What's up with mum?" he muttered, "She made a bloody racket on the way up, and my head's pounding..."

"George Weasley," Bill hissed, going red with anger, "She nearly lost two more sons. If the worst of your problems is a hangover, you're bloody lucky, now pull yourself together."

Everyone else, including George, was stunned by the sudden burst of anger. In all his dealings with the Weasleys, Bill seemed to be the only brother who had inherited his father's patience, not his mother's hot-headed temper. To see him nearly spitting at his brother was deeply shocking to Harry. For a moment, he half-expected another fight to break out, but, even now they were both fully-grown men, Bill was bigger and tougher than his brother. He was taller by a few inches, and seemed to tower over George, his scarred face fixed in a furious glare. George, drunk as he was, still wasn't stupid enough to pick a fight with Bill. He narrowed his eyes, and then walked off into the kitchen, Disapparating with a loud crack.

Bill took a deep breath, and turned back to the others in the sitting room, with a veneer of calm covering the fury of a few moments ago.

"Charlie, you're in charge, don't do anything I wouldn't do," he murmured.

"Anything _you _wouldn't do?" Charlie chuckled, trying to lighten the mood, "_You _went to go and break into tombs in Egypt, so that's not a very long list."

"_You_ went to work in Romania. With _dragons_, I might add," Bill smirked, and Charlie shrugged, as if to say _"Fair point"_. With that, Bill turned and swept out of the room. There was a popping noise as he and Fleur Disapparated, then a second pop as Percy followed suit, and then an awkward silence filled the room. Charlie was on his feet by the doorway, looking bemused at being left in charge. Neville and Luna were sat uncertainly on the sofa – it was Neville's first visit to the Burrow, and only Luna's second, after Bill's wedding. Ginny was still clinging to Harry, and he knew how devastated she was at Hermione's injury, so simply held her, wishing he could reach into her mind and tell her it would all be okay.


	15. Chapter 15: Lingering Questions

**Chapter 15 - Lingering Questions**

Half an hour after Bill, Fleur and Percy's departure, the remaining Weasleys and their guests had scattered around the house. Molly had yet to come back down, to no-one's surprise, and Charlie had wandered into the kitchen to make some lunch. After she finally released her vice-like grip on Harry, Ginny had gone wandering off across the surrounding fields with Luna (Harry knew from personal experience that Luna, left to her own devices, was very good at comforting upset and grieving people), and Harry was left in the sitting room with Neville, giving him a blow-by-blow account of the duel with Dolohov, as his friend's jaw dropped lower and lower with each new detail. When the tale finally ended, Harry's mind was on something else entirely, something he had been meaning to ask Neville for a long time.

"Neville..." he began, wondering how he could phrase the question, "Did it feel... right?"

"Did what feel right?" Neville replied, looking utterly bemused.

"Well, when you... y'know, with Bellatrix..." he sighed, and started again. "Did revenge feel right to you?"

Now Neville understood, and he looked thoughtfully into space for a few seconds before replying.

"Yeah. It felt right, making her pay for what she did to my parents. It felt... it felt like I was giving _them_ what they deserved, not her. That's not to say she _didn't_ deserve, I mean... I just... I was doing it to avenge _them_, not to _get _revenge on her. Do you know what I mean?"

"I think so," Harry said, nodding slowly, "It feels the same to me, I think. I wasn't sure whether it was a good thing or not, to be glad I killed him, to be glad I killed _anyone_."

"I don't think you can call Voldemort 'anyone', Harry," Neville said bluntly, and Harry couldn't help but smile.

"I guess not. It's just..." here, he stopped. Here, his most lingering doubt was on the tip of his tongue, the one doubt he hadn't even confessed to Ginny, fearing her response. "I used the Killing Curse. Avada Kedavra. The most Unforgivable of Unforgivable Curses..."

"I know where you're going with this, Harry, so do me a favour and _stop_."

"What if it makes me as bad as him?" Harry continued, ignoring Neville's request, and his friend's eyes bulged, as if he couldn't believe Harry had _actually_ said it.

"Harry, he used it to murder innocent people, you used it to kill the most evil wizard in history. How is that in _any_ way similar?"

"It doesn't matter how you use it, it still tears your soul apart..."

"Really?" Neville asked, and for one fleeting moment he forgot that he hadn't divulged Snape's memories to Neville, for one moment he could have _sworn _Neville knew, because his words were calling up memories of Snape and Dumbledore, in the Pensieve.

"_The boy's soul is not yet so damaged. I would not have it ripped apart on my account."_

"_And my soul, Dumbledore? Mine?"_

"_You alone know whether it will harm your soul to help an old man avoid pain and humiliation."_

After a minute of staring vacantly out of the window and thinking, Harry's attention snapped back to the conversation. Neville was smiling gently, as if he knew Harry had resolved that issue, at least a little, in his mind. He still couldn't shake the feeling that Neville had known – maybe Ginny had told him, maybe she had wanted to explain Snape's true aims during their last, torturous year. Or maybe he had just imagined it. Before he could actually _ask _Neville, there was a loud clanging from next door as Charlie banged two frying pans together, and called, "Grub's up!"

As they stood, another question formed in Harry's mind, and he turned to Neville.

"Neville... what were you doing at Gringotts today?"

"Oh, that," Neville murmured, smiling, "Kingsley arranged to clear out the Lestrange's vault, and donate the money to St Mungo's. Bill and me went to check how the curse breakers were doing."

Neville just smiled, and walked off, but Harry stayed where he was for a moment, then broke into a smile himself, and followed Neville through to the kitchen.

Charlie had certainly been busy. As they entered, a large plate, piled high with bacon sandwiches, was resting in the centre of the table. Charlie waved for the two boys to sit down, as he disappeared out of the back door, and sent a silvery Patronus flying from his wand; Harry thought he saw a pair of wings beating, before whatever it was shot off across the fields, presumably to find the two girls. He put it out of his mind, and sat down, grabbing two or three sandwiches and stacking them on his plate, as Charlie and Neville sat down around the table and began to do the same.

As he began to eat, and realised for the first time how hungry he was after the morning's events, Harry took a look around the table. With a hint of sadness, he noticed how forlorn the gathering looked. Harry was used to seeing the Weasley's kitchen brimming over with a dozen or more happy, chattering people; to see just two others around the table seemed somehow... wrong.

* * *

><p>Meanwhile, across the fields that extended out from the Burrow for several miles, Ginny and Luna were walking along in a thoughtful silence. In the half hour they had been away, they had discussed the morning's events, and Ginny had to admit, she <em>was <em>feeling a lot better about Hermione now. Harry was right; Luna had a certain knack for comforting people, sometimes unintentionally. With that matter sorted, they were traipsing along an old path, which ran alongside a lush meadow.

"He'll be alright, you know..." Luna murmured in her airy tones, and Ginny, who had been daydreaming, was caught completely by surprise.

"Erm... _he_? Who are we talking about now?" she said, confused.

"Harry, of course."

"Of... of course," Ginny mumbled, and waited for an explanation. When none was given, she continued, "Sorry, did I miss something? What's wrong with Harry?"

"He seemed a bit on edge, that's all. Is he feeling guilty?"

"What would he have to feel guilty about?" Ginny said, cautiously.

"Nothing really," Luna said, "But then again –"

"– when has that ever stopped him?" Ginny muttered, finishing the sentence for her.

"Exactly... Harry blames himself for every thing. It can't be healthy," Luna continued, in her own trademark brand of blunt honesty.

"No, it's not," Ginny agreed, bitterly. "He's too good for his own... well, _good_."

"Is it actually possible to be _too _good?" Luna mused, looking out over the adjacent meadow.

"Probably not, but he still manages it," Ginny replied, shaking her head.

Before they could lament Harry's noble streak any further, however, they were interrupted by a shimmering object flying past their heads. The ethereal, silver hawk swept around, and seemed to pause in mid-air, hovering at eye level. Before either of them could say a word, it opened its beak, and Charlie voice rumbled out.

"_Food's on the table. Get back here before I eat yours."_

Ginny rolled her eyes as Charlie's hawk Patronus vanished in a burst of white flames, and abruptly turned around, heading back towards the Burrow with Luna in tow. By the time they arrived, Charlie was threatening to make good on his promise, but Harry and Neville had each grabbed a plateful already, handing them to Ginny and Luna as they sat down.

"Anything happen while we were out?" Ginny said, without enthusiasm.

"No... No word from St Mungo's, and Mum's still upstairs," Charlie replied, attempting to crack a lopsided smile, but looking rather nervous. With a sigh, Ginny began to peck at a bacon sandwich without enthusiasm, almost too worried to eat.

The afternoon passed just as uneventfully. She, Harry, Luna and Neville whittled away the hours playing Exploding Snap, checking every little noise to see if Ron and Hermione had Apparated back to the Burrow, and constantly shooting glances at the clock as it ticked into the evening. By seven o'clock, their games had degenerated into Ginny sprawling on the sofa, watching out of the window anxiously, as Harry and Neville tried to work out what made the cards explode by firing various jinxes and hexes at them (while Luna earnestly theorised that particularly vicious Nargles could be responsible). Just as Charlie began to shout that dinner was ready, Neville lazily flicked a Backfiring Jinx at the cards strewn over the carpet, and yelped as it set off a dozen little explosions in a matter of seconds.

If Charlie had heard the commotion, he was certainly ignoring it – he just stuck his head around the door and repeated himself. After going through to the kitchen and eating a tiny plateful of shepherd's pie, Ginny's twitching, anxious stomach could take no more.

Once everyone else had eaten their fill, she retreated outside with Harry for a broomstick race around the orchard, with Harry borrowing Charlie's old broom for the purpose. It was good to be out in the fresh air, to feel the slight rush of adrenaline she got from flying, dulled though it may have been by her worries. Eventually, however, the sky began to grow dark, they were forced inside, and the four teenagers headed for bed – too weary and worried to stay up and wait for news, they decided to leave it until the morning. Ginny retired to her own room with Luna, as Harry and Neville awkwardly settled down in Ron's, all too aware that its usual resident was still absent.

Sleep didn't come easily for Ginny, nor, she suspected, for the others. First, she was awoken on the very brink of falling asleep by her mother's bustling footsteps hurrying down the stairs, presumably to join Charlie, who was maintaining a steady vigil in the kitchen, watching for any arrivals. About half an hour after that, there was a loud pop, and a wave of chatter filled the kitchen. Ginny sat bolt upright, heart pounding with excitement and anxiety, until she heard her father's voice drifting up the stairs, and slumped back down again.

Indeed, by midnight, Ginny had been alerted to so many false alarms – mostly caused by owls, pipes, or the ghoul – that the latest popping noise barely drew a response from her, until she heard her mother let out a cry which seemed half way between anguish and relief...

In an instant, Ginny was up and out of bed, not caring that she was only wearing her underwear and a long t-shirt. As she dashed onto the landing, she found both Neville and Harry rushing out next to her, having heard the noises too. Luna, on the other hand, was still dazedly stumbling out of bed as Ron's voice echoed up the stairs.

"Yeah... they said she should be alright, but..." Ginny didn't hear the rest of the sentence. She and Harry were both sprinting down the stairs, taking them two at a time. They leapt down and burst through the door to the sitting room, as Ginny's heart did a relieved and rather jubilant somersault. Ron was stood on the other side, with Hermione, pale but smiling, hanging onto his arm. Resisting the urge to hug her due to her rather frail appearance, Ginny and Harry both cast around for an alternative, and settled on each other. Without warning, and seemingly without any great control over her body, she lunged at Harry and wrapped her arms around his neck, beaming with relief as he hugged her back. Charlie and Ron snickered, Hermione smiled weakly, and Mrs Weasley's eyebrows rose almost to the ceiling, as Ginny sheepishly let go of him, and turned back to face the others, blushing ever so slightly. She could already see the cogs turning in her mother's head, and cringed at the thought.

"So...erm... what's the verdict?" Ginny said brightly, keen to change the subject. Ron was still grinning smugly at the two of them as he replied:

"Hermione's wounds should heal by themselves; she's just got to avoid over-exerting herself for a week or two."

"No marathons then," Neville said cheerfully, having just arrived at the foot of the stairs behind Ginny.

"And no magic, either," Hermione scowled. "This arse" – she nodded at Ron – "even took my wand."

"Well, like Fred and George always said," Ron mused, and Ginny noticed that his flinch at Fred's name was getting far less pronounced, "doing things without magic gives us a better appreciation of how Muggles and Squibs live."

"Ron, I'm Muggle-born, I already _know _how they live."

"Oh...right..."

Hermione's safe return put everyone in a much better mood. With the spell damage healed, or at least healing, and a prescription of rest and relaxation, she promptly decided (after spending a whole day unconscious in a hospital bed) to go back to bed immediately. Frankly, Ginny was buzzing too much to get to sleep properly, but relented, and headed back up to her room, giving Hermione her bed, before drawing up a mattress on the floor, like Luna, and going to sleep there. Likewise, the three boys retreated back into Ron's room, where Ron (according to Harry, the next morning) was asleep and snoring within thirty seconds.

With Mr and Mrs Weasley and Charlie now retiring to bed as well, no longer having a reason to wait up, the Burrow finally fell quiet – or at least, as quiet as it could be, with the banging of a ghoul in the attic, and the various nocturnal movements of two owls and a cat (or, as Harry had once described him, quite a small tiger). Nonetheless, Ginny was used to it, and with her anxiety for Hermione gone, she soon found herself drifting pleasantly off to sleep...

She awoke around mid-morning, and headed sleepily downstairs to find Luna, Neville, Harry, Charlie and her parents already awake and clustered around the table. She guessed that both Ron and Hermione were enjoying a well-deserved lie-in. Ginny sat down between Harry and Luna, grabbing a piece of toast from the platter in the middle of the table and taking a hungry bite out of it. At the same time, she was being careful not to meet her mother's eyes – she was all too aware of the suspicious cogs still turning in the Weasley matriarch's mind after last night. The relaxed chatter had stopped when she arrived, but resumed again after a few moments.

"So, Dad," Charlie began, as he reached for another slice of toast, "is there anything happening at the Ministry which _isn't _depressing?"

Arthur Weasley chuckled, and said, "Well, Kingsley's very focused on the clean-up, as you know. Recruiting new hands to fill the gaps, clearing up the rubbish left over from the Death Eaters... There's not a _lot _of fun to be had, I will admit... I suppose there is one thing, though..."

He paused, and Charlie, with a mouth full of toast, waved his hand in a rolling motion, as if to say _"Well, go on then!"_

"There is the small matter," Arthur continued, his soft eyes twinkling, "of the Quidditch World Cup."

In perfect synchronicity, Harry and Charlie snorted in surprise, showering half-eaten crumbs over the table, and earning a scowl each from Molly. Wiping his lips, Charlie was the first to speak.

"I thought the Ministry cancelled it?"

"Well, they cancelled our involvement, but we're not hosting it this time, are we? Especially after what happened last time..." Arthur shuddered at the memory, as did Harry, Charlie and Ginny, who had all been there too.

"So what's our Ministry up to if they're not hosting it?"

"Transport, Charlie, transport. We need to sort out dozens of Portkeys in a matter of weeks, and they all need to be confirmed on the other end by the French Ministry. It's a huge job – it took months last time, but we've only got a few weeks to do it now, thanks to the coup. For anything else, we'd have given up, but this is a major international event. People were willing to send hate mail to the _Death Eaters _when the Ministry cancelled it the first time around," he said, with a sigh.

"It's being held in France?" Charlie said, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "If only we knew a delightful French girl with an influential and well-to-do family... I wonder if Bill knows anyone like that...?"

"Ooh! How about Fleur?" Luna piped up, excitedly.

Charlie's head hit the table with a loud and somehow sarcastic bang. He let out an exasperated groan, as Luna smiled innocently back at him.

"Thanks for the suggestion, Luna," he smirked, as he picked his head up off the table, "I'd _never _have thought of Fleur otherwise..."

"You're quite welcome," Luna beamed, and for a moment, Ginny wasn't sure if she was being her usual ditsy self, or if she was deliberately winding Charlie up. Either way, she decided, it was funny to watch.

"I don't know, I don't think her parents are _that _influential," Molly murmured, but Arthur, sat next to her, looked rather vacant. He shared a nervous glance at Harry, and Ginny knew they were both wondering just _how much_ Veela blood Apolline Delacour had, and thinking of the Veela mascots at the last World Cup. It would certainly go some way to bolstering their political _influence_.

"It's worth a try," Charlie shrugged, "We could all do with a bit of fun, at any rate..."


	16. Chapter 16: Reality Check

**Chapter 16 - Reality Check**

After their late breakfast, the remaining Weasleys and their guests set about their business. Neville and Luna went back to Hogwarts, travelling to the Gryffindor common room by Floo, as everyone else poured out into the orchard. It was a Saturday, so Mr Weasley, Bill and Fleur all had time off, and the latter two arrived just minutes after Neville and Luna left. The thunderstorms of the previous day seemed to have cleared the air, leaving blue skies and a beautifully hot sun in their wake, and everyone took full advantage. Mr Weasley had disappeared inside his shed, much to Harry's amusement, and he thought he could see the rear tyre and handlebars of a motorcycle, among other parts, scattered across the floor and worktops. At the time, Harry didn't realise whose motorbike it was. Mrs Weasley, Fleur, and Hermione, who had arrived with Ron some time after the others had finished eating, were basking in the sun in three long deck chairs Molly had conjured.

Harry had fallen back on his old failsafe – Quidditch. This time, he was borrowing Fleur's broom – a surprisingly well-maintained broom of an unknown French brand – to play, while Ron, Ginny, Bill and Charlie bobbed around him. A Quaffle would have been too hard to explain had it floated off and landed in the nearby Muggle town, so, as they usually did on these occasions, they took to diving down, plucking apples off the trees or the ground, and hurling them for each other to catch. The game only ended when an overripe specimen hit Charlie square in the face and disintegrated, covering him in green mush. As Charlie swore, _very _loudly, Bill rolled over, hunched up with laughter, and dropped three feet off his broom to the ground below, still roaring with laughter at his brother's furious, fruit-smeared expression. While Bill laughed and Charlie swiped the sticky, sweet-smelling stuff off his face, Ginny seemed to abandon all rational thought, and dived towards Harry. She lunged off her own broom, knocked him off his, and landed on top of him in the grass, to incredulous stares from the various onlookers. She blushed as red as her hair, and clambered off of him, struggling to suppress a lop-sided smile, as Harry met Hermione's eyes – she grinned smugly at him, then disappeared behind the book she was reading when Mrs Weasley glanced across at her.

The next two weeks passed similarly well. Everyone's mood held out, as did the blazing summer sun they would usually be lamenting inside a hot classroom. Now, however, it was perfect for relaxing. Harry and the recovering Hermione stayed at the Burrow, spending every day with Ginny and Ron, usually with the three fliers playing Quidditch, while Hermione read and watched from the sidelines.

After ten days, Hermione had read every book in the Burrow and several others of her own from Hogwarts. The next day, she was left to read "A Dragon Keeper's Handbook", an old, battered, leather-bound tome that Charlie produced from his trunk when she mentioned her lack of reading material. When Harry and the others landed to get a drink later that afternoon, he got a glimpse at the book's insides – he was reminded strongly of the Half-Blood Prince's Potions book, as Charlie had scrawled little notes and asides on many of the pages (on the Hungarian Horntail page, which Hermione was reading at the time, next to "Method of Approach:" Charlie had crossed out the real method and simply written "Don't"), and he was convinced that the leather exterior was actually dragon hide, because the ugly burns that covered much of the surface didn't seem to have penetrated the book itself. At any rate, the book and Charlie's own musings on the subject seemed to be fairly thorough, because it took Hermione a day and a half to get through it, a feat which Bathilda Bagshot and Newt Scamander alike had failed to accomplish.

At the end of the two weeks, Ron finally gave Hermione her wand back at breakfast, and all talk turned to what they would do next. Mrs Weasley (who to Harry's amazement had seemingly yet to work out what was going on between him and Ginny) wanted them to stay at the Burrow, but the four teenagers all agreed they had to go back to Hogwarts, at least briefly, to collect their belongings – Hermione's beaded bag had been fetched by Ron, so that she could have access to her belongings while she recovered, but Ginny's trunk and Harry's battered rucksack were still at Hogwarts. In the end, they agreed that they would go to Hogwarts now, have breakfast, and then return to the Burrow to drop off their belongings. As Molly wished them a safe trip, they stood up and stepped out of the front door. With Hermione's magic still a little shaky and Ginny still being underage, Ron and Harry agreed to take them by side-along Apparition. Ginny took Harry's arm, flashed him a quick smile, and then he felt the familiar feeling of suction, as they disappeared with a crack.

They re-appeared, seconds later, right next to the great stone gates that led up to Hogwarts. After a brief wait, Ron and Hermione popped into sight next to them, and the four set off up the path, through the gates, topped with their winged boars, and up the long, winding path back to Hogwarts.

Luna and Neville had been visiting regularly over the last fortnight, but were still thrilled to see them back, and joined them for breakfast, as did Seamus and Dean. As it happened, Neville in particular had been bombarded with questions about the attack on Diagon Alley, mostly to do with whether Harry had really duelled a Death Eater, and whether Hermione was really dead. Harry wearily confirmed Neville's story that _yes, _he _had _duelled Antonin Dolohov, and he _had _wounded him before he escaped. With the important social matter of gossip over with, they settled down to breakfast. Harry and Ron had just started on seconds when the owl post arrived. The birds flew high overhead, swooping down to various pupils, and, to his surprise, Harry saw one diving straight at them. It shot past Neville's head and came to land on the table, a few inches away from him.

As it took a few hopping steps towards Neville, they got a good look at the owl for the first time. It was not the Longbottom family's barn owl, which he had seen deliver packages to Neville before, but a magnificent eagle owl. He heard Hermione whisper something about it being a "Pharaoh Eagle-owl" to Ron, and Harry was prepared to bet that if he checked the bookshelves at the Burrow, he'd find a book on owl breeds, freshly-read some time in the last two weeks. The bird itself was a startlingly good specimen – it was a lustrous golden-brown colour, with two bright, fire-like orange eyes that swept across the assembled onlookers. Hooting regally, it extended its leg to Neville, who nervously took the little parchment attached to its leg. No sooner had he taken the message than the owl swept around and took off, nearly knocking a sixth-year Ravenclaw girl to the floor as it swung into the air and flew over her head. Neville had prised the letter open, and realisation began to dawn on Harry as he recognised the Ministry's seal on the back of the parchment. Neville's face lit up as he read, and after a minute he slid the parchment across to Harry, beaming happily as Harry read aloud:

_Dear Neville,_

_I am writing to let you know that the curse-breakers have finished their work on the Lestrange Family vault at Gringotts. The contents include over five thousand Galleons in currency, as well as large amounts of treasure and other valuable items. As per your instructions, three thousand Galleons have been donated to the Janus Thickey Ward at St Mungo's. The remainder has been transferred to you, as has the ownership of the Lestrange Vault and the various trophies within, to do with as you wish. Spend it wisely._

_Kingsley_

Neville was still beaming as Harry finished. Harry had always assumed that because Neville came from a pureblood family, the Longbottom vault, like the Potter vault, would be flooded with wealth. In hindsight, however, he realised that his father had inherited the vast majority of that wealth from his rich, equally pure-blooded parents. Furthermore, while the Potter vault had been untouched for nine years before Harry found out about it, the Longbottom vault would have spent those years being steadily depleted by family life...

Either way, over two thousand Galleons was not to be sniffed at, nor were the trophies the Lestranges had collected over the years. He knew, unlike Ginny, Luna, Seamus and Dean, who all wore the same questioning expression at the mention of the "trophies", that the Lestrange's vault was packed with more valuable things than money. Ron and Hermione had seen it too, as, apparently, had Neville, on his trip to Gringotts with Bill; huge, vividly-coloured hides that appeared to have come from dragons, opulent jewellery, bullion bars of gold and silver, ceremonial armour from centuries past... They were exactly the sort of "trophies" that would be prized by pureblood, socially elite families like the Lestranges, Blacks, and Malfoys.

After breakfast, and with everyone feeling distinctly cheerful, they headed for the Gryffindor common room. Harry had quickly grabbed his rucksack and, after slinging it over one shoulder, spent a great deal of time and effort helping Ron carry Ginny's trunk. After about ten minutes of hauling the thing around, they made it out into the courtyard, and the two boys set it down, weary from the strain of carrying it. Moments later, Hermione had levitated it effortlessly into the air, and walked off, smirking, as it floated beside her, while Harry and Ron aimed angry scowls at her back.

They headed back down the winding path to the gates, as it occurred to Harry that the last time he had walked down this path, he had ended up in Diagon Alley, duelling a seasoned Death Eater. Finally, they passed through the boar-topped gates. Neville and Luna said their goodbyes, then peeled off and headed into Hogsmeade, hand in hand. Hermione grabbed the handle of her trunk in one hand, and Ron's arm in the other, before they disappeared with a familiar whip-like crack and a blurry haze of motion. Harry took a step towards Ginny, offered his arm, and as she took it, Apparated, feeling extremely happy.

When they Disapparated, however, his good mood instantly vanished. They were just outside the front door to the Burrow, and could hear loud sobs coming from the kitchen. Sharing a worried glance at each other, he and Ginny headed inside. Ron and Hermione were already in the kitchen, and had hastily shoved Hermione's trunk out of the way – now, they were staring nervously at Mrs Weasley, who was sobbing desperately (not to mention uncharacteristically) into her hands. Harry's eyes were drawn to a black envelope lying open on the table, sealed with a red stamp, and fervently prayed that a "black letter" didn't mean a death in the family.

Charlie, who was trying to be as comforting as possible while still looking terrified to touch her, waved for them to follow him, and headed into the sitting room. As the four of them slipped inside, looking nervous, Charlie shut the door behind them, and cast a hasty Silencing Charm on it.

"What's happened, Charlie?" Ron asked warily. "Is someone..."

"No, nothing like that," his brother sighed, and Harry inwardly sighed with relief. "They've set a date for Fred's funeral. Two days' time."

"Oh," Ron muttered. Harry had to admit, that was pretty much the only thing he could think of saying at the moment. His mind had gone blank as if hit by a sledgehammer, as the happy summer was pervaded by memories, and the all-penetrating truth that Fred was dead. Ginny looked as blank as he felt, but had managed to stop herself crying, and merely grasped his arm for support, as his own mind reeled once more at the thought it had been trying so hard to block out:

Fred was dead.


	17. Chapter 17: The Funeral of Fred Weasley

**A/N: I have to admit, this was one of the only chapters that I was actually _nervous _to write. Frankly, I hope I did it some semblance of justice. Let me know your thoughts. The next chapter (or possibly the one after, if my memory serves me right) is another big funeral, so prepare for a few grim chapters.**

**Chapter 17 - The Funeral of Fred Weasley**

Fred's funeral was a large and grim affair.

The church, nestled amongst the hills around Ottery St Catchpole, was a tiny, rural thing, and the adjacent graveyard was bursting with the sheer number of mourners, all packed in on small white chairs that strongly reminded Harry of Dumbledore's funeral, just a year before. The Weasleys, Harry and Hermione occupied the front-right corner of the assembly, while the rest of the seats were filled by the remnants of the Order, the entirety of Dumbledore's Army, and various other mourners. Hagrid's massive form filling three seats would usually have drawn Harry's mirth, but he was feeling far too gloomy. Even at Dumbledore's funeral, he had managed a smile, but Fred's death was too close and too personal for that.

Only three people were absent from the congregation as evening – and the funeral – approached. Kingsley was not seated with the rest of the Ministry attendants – he had offered to perform the ceremony himself, and was stood before the crowd, clad in sombre black-and-purple robes. Arthur was missing too, but Harry knew, with a sinking sensation, that he would be carrying Fred's body, and had gone to attend to it. The final empty seat was even more depressing – George's. He had appeared with the other Weasleys, and taken his place, but five minutes before the funeral began, Molly had said something to him that made him storm out angrily, pursued by an equally angry Bill, who had returned minutes later, fuming, and reported that George had Apparated.

Harry's mind was elsewhere, however. He was vaguely aware of Kingsley's words, but it was hard to listen to them. Molly was in tears, and he honestly wondered whether it was because of Fred, or George... He wrapped his arm dutifully around Ginny, who was shivering slightly, but as usual was managing to stop herself from crying, and continued to stare past Kingsley.

Secretly, Harry was dreading a different funeral. The day after Molly had received her "black envelope", a pair of similar letters had been delivered to Harry and Arthur over breakfast, the next day, having apparently been delivered to all of the surviving members of the Order of the Phoenix, and Harry. Sure enough, Bill and Charlie had arrived from Shell Cottage bearing the same letters – the day after Fred's burial, the joint funeral of Remus Lupin and Nymphadora Tonks would be taking place.

Harry dreaded Lupin's funeral for more than just simple grief. Secretly, he was struggling with his own ill-deserved (according to everyone else) guilt, but it was the living he feared, not the dead. The prospect of facing Andromeda Tonks terrified him – she had lost her daughter, her husband, and her son-in-law, and in his head, she had lost them because of him, not to mention her being left to care for an orphaned baby.

His mind was brought back to the matter at hand as Ginny nudged him. He looked across at her, and saw that she was biting her lip, shivering more than ever as she tried to hold back tears, and gripping his hand very tightly. Harry quickly realised the source of her agitation – Mr Weasley was at the end of the aisle, looking pale and shaken as he carried a scarlet-and-gold shrouded form up to the front. Ginny, apparently unable to watch any further, dug her nails into Harry's hand, and nodded towards the back of the congregation. He got the message, wrapping his arm around her shoulder as they stood up, and making for the exit. No-one stopped them. Everyone, it seemed, understood. As they began to walk around to the other side of the church, Kingsley word's drifted over to them, and filled Harry's ears with a Muggle proverb he vaguely recognised:

"_In peace, sons bury their fathers. In war, fathers bury their sons."_

The words seemed to shriek inside Harry's head, as they crossed around behind the church, and Kingsley's voice faded altogether. Almost immediately, Ginny slipped out of his grasp and collapsed against the stone wall of the church, sinking to the ground. She was still refusing to cry, but Harry knew Fred's death was hitting home for her – he knew she had been closest to Fred and George, and the day had brought a horrible combination of Fred's passing, and George's flight...

With no words of comfort strong enough for the occasion, Harry simply sat down in front of her, cross-legged, and held her hands in his as she stared at the ground. Eventually, the shaking subsided slightly – she still shivered, but she was able to get back on her feet, and they returned to the graveyard, as the congregation began to leave, Apparating away in small groups.

The Weasley contingent seemed to have split into pairs to support themselves. Mrs Weasley, red-eyed and vacant, was clutching at the rather gaunt-looking Mr Weasley. Hermione and Ron were holding each other very tightly, both apparently struggling. Bill was hugging Fleur very tightly to his side, and Percy was hand-in-hand with a brunette who Harry had assumed was randomly seated next to him, but seemed, in reality, to be his girlfriend. On any other occasion, he would have logged this down as ammunition against Percy, or rather, Fred and George would have. But now, it was just George, and barely that...

Only Charlie was alone. True to Harry's first impression of him, he seemed to be holding out with a large degree of toughness and resilience. He was shaking Kingsley's hand, apparently thanking him for performing the ceremony, and Harry had to admit that even Kingsley's usually serene gaze was laced with sadness.

"Go on," Harry murmured, letting go of Ginny's shoulders and nodding towards the other Weasleys. "You need to be with your family..."

"You _are _family, you daft git," she said, somewhat weakly. Nonetheless, she nodded to him, kissed him on the cheek, and set off after her family, catching up to Charlie as the others began to Apparate. Thoughtfully, Harry watched them Apparate, two by two, and as Charlie and Ginny finally departed, he found his own mind working on instinct. He knew where he needed to go, to give them some space, and to give himself some time... He span in a little half-circle and... _pop_.

When he had left rural Devon at six o'clock in the evening, the sun was low in the sky, casting a red glow over the hills. However, when he arrived in Hogsmeade at six o'clock in the evening, only a half-inch of burning crimson sun was visible over the horizon, casting an odd purple sheen across the bottoms of the clouds. He paced down the street, coming to a stop in front of Honeydukes, and slumping down into an empty bench, as the last trace of crimson disappeared, and the village was cast into twilight.

Harry was barely paying attention to the empty street around him – his head was concerned with the voices of the previous night, the voices he knew would be returning tonight.

"_Why did you leave us, Harry?"_

"_Why did you take so long, Harry?"_

"_Why didn't you save us –"_

"Harry?"

Harry's head shot up as he heard the call, in a familiar, airy tone. Luna Lovegood had appeared from the doorway of Honeydukes, looking concerned. She was still wearing the sleeveless black dress – surprisingly _normal _for Luna – that she had worn to the funeral, and her cautious, serious expression was at odds with the sugar quill jutting out from the corner of her mouth. Without invitation, she walked over, and sat down next to him, remaining silent for a few minutes.

The shimmering twilight was getting steadily darker, as a full moon rose gracefully into the sky. Somehow, however, the piercing moonlight made the shadows darker by contrast, and Harry felt as if he and Luna were shrouded in a cold night, not a summer evening. Beside him, Luna drew her wand and, still chewing on her sugar quill, murmured something that sounded like _"Adastra"_. Harry looked across out of curiosity, and saw three little wisps of light burst from her wand, coming to circle above them. They were tiny little things, like silver-white fireflies, not the great orbs of light that Harry was used to conjuring, and every time they moved they formed a delicate trail of silver light, which hung in the air for a few seconds before dissolving. Despite their small size and apparent fragility, they were radiating light like tiny stars, bathing the two figures on the bench in what felt like warm moonlight.

"One of my mum's charms," Luna whispered, as if sensing his curiosity, and the unformed question on his lips. Somewhere in Harry's mind, he recalled what Luna had told him about her mother. She had died testing one of her new spells... He was considering how talented she must have been to produce not just one new spell, but several, when Luna continued, "I found it in her old diary..."

"Really? Just that, or were there other spells?"

"Oh, there were quite a few, but I haven't tried many of them, given that her last one... well...killed her," she finished, rather bluntly.

There was an awkward silence. Harry smiled at her, trying to look sympathetic, as she stared off into space and continued to chew lazily on the nib of the sugary quill in her mouth. Eventually, it was Luna who broke the silence.

"You have dreams, don't you?"

She said it so matter-of-factly that Harry was lost for words for a minute or so. Luna pawed at the air, and he bitterly fought back the temptation to ask just how many Wrackspurts were flitting around his head. Instead, he just nodded back at her.

"I have dreams, too... I can't imagine they're as bad as yours, though. Ginny told me you were feeling guilty."

"Ginny... Ginny told you?" Harry said, rather dumbly. He _had _hoped that she wouldn't go spreading it around. He didn't want more patronising talk of how he shouldn't blame himself. He _did _blame himself, and that was that.

"Well, I guessed, and she didn't _deny _it. It's the same thing really, isn't it?"

Harry supposed it was. Before he could say anything more, however, they were interrupted by the heavens opening. The thick grey clouds which had been darkening the sky for the last few minutes were now rolling overhead, and heavy raindrops began to pound down around them. Harry jumped up as if he had received an electric shock as his neck and hunched shoulders were pounded with water. Luna sprang up next to him, although he wasn't sure whether she was genuinely reacting like that, or just copying him. They exchanged a hasty glance, and set off at a brisk pace down the street. The moonlight framed Hogwarts against the night sky, and it seemed a veritable haven – safe and secure, and more importantly, _dry_.

Hogsmeade was certainly _not _dry. By the time they reached the corner of the street, Harry's fringe was flopping down over his glasses, streaking them with water, and Luna's dirty-blond hair was sodden as she hurried after him.

"It's rather wet, isn't it?" she called whimsically, raising her voice slightly over the pounding of rain on rooftops. Harry took one look at her, utterly soaked, and sighed. He hurriedly pulled off the jacket of his dress robes and passed it to her, grinning slightly. The water was seeping through his waistcoat, and the sleeves of his shirt, which he rolled up to stop them sticking to his forearms. He imagined they must have made quite a sight to anyone who cared to look out of the window – Harry, grinning and soaked to the skin, and Luna, giggling and bedraggled, with a man-sized jacket slung around her slender shoulders, looking rather like a small child in an older sibling's hand-me-downs. They ran, and laughed, and danced about in the pouring rain, too wet to care about it anymore.

Finally, about half an hour after the rain began to fall, they traipsed the last few feet up the gravel path to the castle, and staggered through the great doors to the entrance hall. They were both dripping wet – Luna looked as if she'd been dunked into the lake, with her black dress clinging to her, while Harry's sodden shirt was stuck to his arms and shoulders. Small puddles were forming on the stone floor as water practically flowed off them.

Harry was feeling far more cheerful than he had all day, and was about to speak when footsteps echoed down the corridor, and Filch appeared, looking as battered and weather-beaten as Harry felt. He stopped dead, looking at the two students literally flooding the entrance hall, and his eyes bulged. Somehow, this made Harry want to grin even more, but he repressed it, as Filch clung to his broom as if for support. He jabbered and spluttered for a few seconds, but just as he was about to speak (or perhaps scream), there was a noise somewhere off to the left that sounded remarkably like a vase shattering against a wall.

"PEEVES!" Filch roared, and he seemed to forget Harry and Luna entirely, as he shot off down the corridor, with Mrs Norris yowling and trotting along at his heels. Harry shot one look at Luna, and then they both began to laugh. Luna dropped to her knees, clutching her stomach, and Harry leant against the wall as great, raucous laughs ripped their way out of his chest, as if they had been pent up for the last week in his depression, and were eager for the chance to escape.

When they finally stopped laughing, Harry helped Luna up, and she handed him his jacket back, now weighing twice as much in its waterlogged state. He slung it over his shoulder (showering water across the wall as he did), and headed off towards Gryffindor Tower, as Luna hurried off to her own common room.

Some time later, he climbed through the portrait hole to find an abandoned room. It was still only seven o'clock in the evening, Harry remembered, but his exhaustion and the dark clouds outside made it feel like midnight. He staggered towards the stairs to the boy's dormitories, and found Lee Jordan coming the other way, apparently the only other person in the tower at present.

"Been swimming?" Lee quipped. Harry merely grinned as he passed him, and wearily climbed the stairs. His sodden clothes hadn't been a problem when he was dancing around with Luna in blissful relief, letting go of all his current frustrations. Now, however, they were heavy and cumbersome, and clung to his skin. When he finally reached his own dorm, he slipped inside and noted, with relief, that it was empty. He began to peel off his waistcoat and shirt, slinging them down in a sodden heap on the end of his bed, along with his jacket. He pulled off his trousers with some difficulty, wiped his glasses on the edge of his bedsheets, and decided to turn in early. It had been a long day, in more ways than one, and tomorrow would be just as hard, if not worse. Harry wasn't looking forward to the dreams, but he would be glad to get them over with for another night.

Only as he shifted the soaking pile of clothes did he realise what the extra weight of his jacket had really been – as he picked it up, a small crystal bottle tumbled out onto the bed. He slung the jacket aside onto the heap, and picked up the bottle. It was brimmed with a purple liquid, and the silver stopper had a running hare carved into it, identical to its owner's Patronus. Harry vaguely remembered Luna's words: _"I have dreams too..."_

He chuckled slightly as he realised how well her plan had worked, and stared at the little purple draught, now recognising it as the potion for dreamless sleep he had taken in his fourth year. After a moment's hesitation, he unscrewed the stopper, and downed the potion in one. Even as he clambered into his four-poster and pulled the sheets over himself, he could feel his eyelids drooping.

Minutes later, he had drifted into blissful sleep, completely free of the haunting voices that usually plagued his nights.


	18. Chapter 18: The Lupins

**Chapter 18 - The Lupins**

When Harry woke in the morning, it was raining again. Or maybe it was _still _raining. If last night's torrential rain had indeed carried on through the night, then Harry was sure Hogwarts had to be afloat by now.

However, as he got up and stretched his arms, he found that Hogwarts was _not _afloat. Rain was coursing across the grounds, forming a thin layer of water over the grass. Harry's attention turned inwards – he had the dormitory to himself, as none of the other occupants had returned to Hogwarts after the funeral, and he was glad of it. Luna's potion had worked, and had given him the first peaceful night's sleep he'd had in a week, but he was still glad to have some time to himself, to savour the empty night and the lack of dreams. By eight o'clock, he had washed, and traipsed down to the hall for breakfast. Lupin and Tonks' funeral would be taking place two hours later, which gave him two hours to eat, prepare, and meet up with the Weasleys.

The Great Hall of Hogwarts was nearly abandoned, just like the common room, when Harry walked in. Luna had apparently been and gone, and the only occupants were a few fifth years at the Hufflepuff table, Professor Slughorn at the staff table, and two solitary figures at the Gryffindor table. As he approached, he recognised Angelina and Lee, leaning towards each other in a conspiratorial air, and muttering. When Harry sat down next to them, they stopped momentarily, and Lee looked warily at him, but Angelina waved a hand at him to continue.

"It's alright, Harry's in on this," she murmured, and Lee nodded, looking relieved. As Harry heaped a few rashers of bacon and some toast onto his plate, Angelina started to explain.

"We've got a plan to sort George out, but we can't do it all between the two of us, and we need a secure place to do it, too..."

"I suggested this old warehouse that we used for the first Potterwatch, but the Muggles have turned it into apartments," Lee scowled. Harry swallowed a mouthful, as a thought occurred to him.

"Have you tried speaking to Bill?"

"Bill Weasley?" Angelina said, uncertainly. "George's _brother_?"

"Ron and Ginny wanted to help," Harry shrugged, "why wouldn't he? He had a massive row with George about it the other day, and you might be able to use Shell Cottage for whatever you've got planned."

"Well... it couldn't hurt to ask, could it?" she mused. "Thanks Harry."

The two of them got up and left, ostensibly to send a letter, and Harry wolfed down the last of his breakfast, before leaving too. He wound his way back to the dormitory, and began looking for his dress robes. To his mild surprise, they were neatly folded on the end of his bed (he suspected Kreacher), and he quickly pulled on the shirt, trousers and waistcoat, slinging the jacket over his shoulder.

Mercifully, an hour later the rain had stopped, just long enough for him to leave the castle and head for the gates to Apparate. A quick half-turn later, he was presented not with the Burrow, as he so often was, but with a country cottage that looked so normal it hardly appeared to be a Wizarding residence at all. White smoke was issuing gently from the chimney, and the house looked peaceful enough, but Harry caught glimpses of a garden that had been left largely unchecked, and was overgrowing itself. As he got nearer, he saw a large pock-mark next to the door that he knew had been made by a curse when the Death Eaters came here.

Andromeda Tonks was waiting by the door, wearing a black dress and a rather shell-shocked expression. Harry felt an enormous surge of pity for her. First, Sirius had been killed, the only member of her family who refused to disown her. Then her husband, Ted, the kindly little fat man he remembered from his last visit, had been murdered by Snatchers. And finally, just weeks ago, her only daughter and her son-in-law had been killed in the Battle of Hogwarts. He wondered whether she knew, as he now did, that it was her sister Bellatrix who had killed Tonks...

As he approached, she was wearing a rather blank look. She had lost everyone, he thought, except the tiny beacon of life she was now clutching in her arms. Teddy Remus Lupin gave a cheerful gurgle as Harry appeared, and the tufts of hair on his infant head changed from a bright teal colour to jet black, imitating Harry's. Andromeda smiled weakly at this.

"Teddy," she murmured, "this is Harry. He's your godfather."

If Teddy Lupin understood, he didn't show it, but he reached out in an attempt to grab Harry's fingers, and clenched his fists tightly around them once he got a grip.

"So, the hair... he's a...?" Harry trailed off.

"A Metamorphmagus, yes," Andromeda sighed, as if this reminder of her daughter was most unwelcome. She looked like she was about to continue, but stopped, although Harry knew what she had been thinking – he had been thinking it too: _"But at least he's not a werewolf."_

Wordlessly, Andromeda shifted the baby in her arms, and made to hand him to Harry.

"I, err... I've never..." Harry muttered, as Teddy was placed gently into his arms.

"Just support his head, dear – yes, like that. There you go..."

Cradling Teddy's head in one hand, and with the other wrapped around the tiny baby and the shroud of blankets that surrounded him, Harry stared down into swirling green eyes. Then, quite suddenly, they were twinkling blue eyes, and the black hair was back to that shade of iridescent teal that seemed to be his favourite, just like Tonks' bubblegum pink. Teddy gurgled happily at the change, and rested his head on the tails of Harry's jacket, which was still draped over his shoulder.

Clutching his godson fondly, Harry set off across the fields, following Andromeda as she wound her way along a bridge across a babbling stream, over a small hill, and then into a small area of woodland. They barely spoke as leaves and twigs crunched underfoot, and Teddy stared happily around, following every little movement of every little woodland creature scurrying by, just out of sight. Finally, after a good fifteen minutes' walk, the trees began to thin, and they emerged into a lush meadow. Clouds were beginning to mask the sky, scattering beams of hazy sunlight over the clearing, but it looked perfectly scenic for now. The stream they had crossed earlier seemed to have snaked around, neatly marking the edge of the clearing, with trees bordering the other three sides of the little hidden grove. Harry's stomach lurched, and Andromeda gave a little sob, as they looked to the centre of the clearing, where a lone silver birch tree stood. Beneath it, a single, large shroud covered two bodies, and Harry could just make out a pair of linked hands in the space between them. He tore his eyes away and determinedly tried to think about anything else, eventually settling on the congregation.

Remus and Dora's wedding had been a tiny affair, contrasted to the lavish show of Bill and Fleur's, and similarly, their funeral was a far smaller spectacle than Fred's. The gathered mourners numbered only twenty or so, and around half of _them _were Weasleys. Harry saw several of his fellow Gryffindors, including Seamus, Neville and Dean, and smiled as he remembered Dean standing up in fifth year and telling Umbridge, without a hint of fear, that Remus Lupin, the "dangerous half-breed", was "the best teacher we ever had". Most of the Hogwarts faculty was present too – McGonagall, Flitwick, Sprout, Slughorn, Hagrid's hulking figure, and several others.

Harry's eyes also flitted across a group of people he recognised as the Ministry officials from Fred's funeral, accompanied by Kingsley. He was perplexed at that. He understood the Ministry appearing at Fred's funeral, for the tragedy of a young life snuffed out, but Lupin was a werewolf and Tonks a blood traitor, and Kingsley had said that there weren't many sympathisers for either left in the Ministry once Yaxley was done with it. Suddenly, however, he recognised Williamson, the pony-tailed wizard he had met in Diagon Alley, and realisation hit him. These were the Aurors, come to pay tribute to one of their own.

Finally, his eyes settled on the Weasley mob. George was missing again, he noticed, and the brunette girl was present once more, holding Percy's hand nervously. Ginny was looking panicked, talking with Ron and Hermione, but their expressions softened as he emerged from the trees. Ron pointed towards him, grinning, and Ginny whirled around, staring in surprise as Harry walked over holding a baby.

"Where'd you get that?" she spluttered, and that was apparently as eloquent a question as she could manage.

"Well, I suppose you're old enough to know now, Ginny," Ron said sarcastically, "When a mummy and a daddy love each other very much..."

Before Ron had a chance to continue, Ginny had punched him very hard in the arm, and he shut up.

"Harry holding a baby. If this is the future, I like it..." she said with a mischievous grin, and this time it was Ron's turn to look affronted, as Hermione struggled not to laugh. Ginny shuffled closer to Harry, and giggled as Teddy reached out, grabbing a fistful of her long, fiery hair. Almost instantly, his own hair shifted from teal to a blazing red, imitating Ginny's hair just as he had imitated Harry's.

All too soon, they had to stop the pleasant catch-up, and gather around for the grim business of the funeral itself. Everyone seemed to have been trying hard to ignore it, and the happy chatter quickly vanished, replaced by a sombre silence as Kingsley stepped into the birch's shade, with a sad glance at the two bodies at his feet.

"We stand here today, to honour the memories of a werewolf, and a blood traitor..." he began, to confused murmurs from the crowd, "and two of the finest people I have ever known. I am _proud_, to say I knew them. I am _proud_, to say I fought with them. And I can say, without a hint of doubt, that they _will _be missed."

Harry bowed his head, as did Ginny next to him. He wished he could reach out and hold her close again, but the baby in his arms made it impossible. Seemingly reading his mind, she looped her arm through his, and rested her head against his shoulder. They were both silent, as were all the attending mourners. Even Teddy Lupin seemed to understand that this was a time to be quiet.

Kingsley opened his mouth to speak again, but thunder rumbled on the horizon as he did. He peered up, as did Harry. The steel-grey clouds that had relented an hour or two ago were rolling in again, threatening another deluge. Nonetheless, Kingsley continued.

"They both lived their lives shunned by their peers. Nymphado..." he caught himself, and looked down as if expecting her spirit to rise up and berate him. "_Tonks_ was forever known as an outcast of the House of Black, and Remus was reviled for his affliction. They were exiles in our society, and yet they stood and fought for us all, and _died _for us all."

As he finished his sentence, the rain began to fall. One or two people murmured in surprise, but no-one showed any desire to leave. Harry's jacket was still pinned to his shoulder, and he didn't bother trying to put it on, he simply pulled Teddy in a bit tighter, trying to shield him from the worst of the rain. Kingsley stood resolutely in front of them, rivulets of water streaking across his face, as he continued, his voice rising against the roar of the storm.

"Friends, I ask you not just to pay homage to a werewolf and an outcast, but to two friends, two warriors, and two exiles..."

He coughed slightly as some of the rainwater ran into his mouth, then beckoned to three figures on the front row – the Aurors. All three of them stepped forward, looking solemn and grim as rain coursed over them. Kingsley drew his wand and stepped to one corner of the shroud, as the Auror Williamson did the same. His two fellows, a short blonde woman and a tall, black-haired man, also had wands drawn, and stepped to the two remaining corners, wands pointing inwards.

"I ask you to pay homage to a Professor, and an Auror. A husband, and a wife. A father, and a mother..."

Then, the Aurors murmured something that was inaudible against the roar of the wind, and through his rain-specked glasses, Harry saw flames erupt from the ground at each corner of the shroud, dancing silver-white, then yellow, and then a bright, glorious orange. A column of fire shot upwards, scattering light over the heads of the congregation and giving the four Aurors an apparent glow.

Then, just as suddenly, it burst into a bright flash of light, and was gone. In its place, Harry could make out a large marble tombstone, in the birch's shadow. Through the sleek lines of rain, he couldn't read the headstone's inscription, but he could make out the shapes. In front of the headstone, two pearly-white wolves were curled together, eyes blissfully shut.

Rain continued to pound around them, and the clearing darkened as a particularly heavy-looking raincloud drifted directly overhead. Remembering the previous night, Harry carefully balanced Teddy in one hand, and drew his wand, pointing it out into the open air with a murmur of _"Adastra"_.

Three glimmering pearls of light soared into the air above them, casting fragile light around them. Behind him, someone else, possibly Luna herself, called _"Adastra" _too, and three more shot upwards. Ginny raised her own wand, adding three more, quickly followed by Ron and Hermione. No-one but Harry and Luna knew what the spell was or where it had come from, but quite suddenly, everyone was repeating it. Harry heard a very gruff voice mutter _"Adastra"_, and knew that three more starry wisps had just emerged from Hagrid's pink umbrella. Kingsley and the other Aurors raised their own wands, chanting the spell in unison, and now little white wisps were filling the entire clearing, racing around above their heads, scattering light in all directions, and seeming to burn through the sheets of rain. One wisp swept down and shot past Teddy's nose, prompting his hair to turn a brilliant white.

The tiny lights were still swirling around the grove as the first people began to filter out, motivated by a clap of thunder nearby. Eventually, only a dozen or so people were left – Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny were still stood at the front, with Teddy in Harry's arms; Bill and Fleur were stood by Arthur and Molly; McGonagall and Hagrid both stayed resolutely in place, and the three Aurors actually knelt by the tombstone, ignoring the wet grass as they bowed their heads. Kingsley, ignoring any idea of Ministerial pride, knelt beside them. Finally, as they stood, he waved a hand to the few remaining mourners to leave, before the lightning arrived.

Harry sought out Andromeda, whose tears were mixed with coursing rivulets of rain, and she gratefully took Teddy, smiling feebly at Harry. She whispered something that he barely heard over the rain, but sounded like "Thank you", and then span, disappearing with a muffled pop. As Harry turned, he saw Hagrid and McGonagall disappear too. Mrs Weasley seemed unwilling to leave while her children remained, but Ron nodded to Harry as explanation and she wearily Disapparated with her husband, quickly followed by Bill and Fleur.

As he walked over to his three friends, Harry turned, waving at the Aurors as the wind began to pick up again, buffeting his soaking body. Kingsley nodded back, and Williamson threw him a mixture of a salute and a wave, before they too began to disappear, one by one, with little pops.

Finally, Harry reached the other three. Ginny looped her arm through his, and nodded at him as he glanced across at her. Then, with a little whirl, they were being sucked upwards and outwards, and moments later, they came to a stop inside the familiar kitchen of the Burrow.


	19. Chapter 19: Revelations

**A/N: This chapter and the previous one are two of my personal favourites. So, read and enjoy! (Oh, and review, don't forget to review!)**

**Chapter 19 - Revelations**

Harry was soaked. He wasn't the only one, either. As they arrived, they found that Bill, Fleur and Charlie were waiting, having Apparated back to the Burrow rather than Shell Cottage. Charlie was pulling off his soaking shirt, and Bill followed suit, as Fleur rolled her eyes at something Bill muttered (probably along the lines of "your turn") and headed upstairs, swinging a satchel in one hand. Harry had torn off his waistcoat and shirt too, as eager to get out of his soaked clothes as he had been the night before, and next to him, Ron had thrown his jacket to the floor, doing the same.

Hermione and Ginny simply looked at them mockingly. Hermione shot Ron a lopsided smile that seemed to say "you wish", while Ginny raised an eyebrow, trotted over to the shirtless Harry and planted a brief kiss on his lips, before turning and leaving with an innocent little wave. Harry _felt _rather than heard Charlie's laughter, and soon he was laughing too.

A minute or two later, "the brunette" walked in, closely followed by Percy. She stopped in her tracks at the sight of the four men, laughing, soaked and shirtless, while Percy merely looked at them despairingly. He had taken his own jacket off, and his tie was hanging undone around his neck, but he was still very much clothed.

"Trust me, after a few years this just seems normal," he muttered, and guided her back out of the room as Harry and the other three Weasleys broke into another collective fit of laughter.

Half an hour later, Harry emerged from Ron's room feeling rather more cheerful than he had thought he would. In a way, it was good to have finally gotten the funeral over with, and to know that it had been done well. He had grabbed a loose shirt and jeans from his trunk (now sitting in Ron's room, newly re-filled with all of his belongings) and pulled them on after drying off. As he walked out into the hallway, followed by Ron, they met Mrs Weasley bustling out of her room, frantically rubbing at her hair with a towel.

"Much better," she muttered, as she gave them an appraising look, and then disappeared into the bathroom.

Harry and Ron descended the stairs and turned into the sitting room, which seemed to be a hive of activity. Bill and Fleur were sprawled out on the large sofa. As Harry and Ron entered, the two kissed, and Charlie faked a bout of vomiting from the armchair next to them. Bill didn't bother to break the kiss; he just reached out with his free hand and punched Charlie in the leg. Percy and his un-named girlfriend occupied two armchairs opposite them, and Mr Weasley had sunk into another. Ron quickly went for the remaining sofa, while Harry slumped down in an armchair by the fire.

The sky outside was still steel-grey, and rain was battering the windows, but everyone seemed to be in good cheer nonetheless, not the solemn, awkward mood that had followed Fred's funeral. They were all still a bit exhilarated, hearts pounding from the cold and the storm. As Harry got comfortable, Percy turned to him, nodding towards the girl sat next to him.

"Ah, Harry, this is Audrey. I don't believe you've been introduced."

Audrey leant out of her seat and shook Harry's hand with a smile – she was a fairly pretty girl, with round cheeks and long, brown hair that fell down her back. It was symbolic of how much Percy had changed that Audrey caught Harry completely by surprise when she began speaking. He had always imagined a girlfriend of Percy's to be similarly formal and serious, but she sounded bubbly and cheerful.

"Hi, Harry, great to meet you. Percy's told me so much about you!"

"Huh, and all we got was 'Hi, you must be Percy's brothers'," Charlie pouted in mock annoyance.

"Yeah, but _we _haven't been on the front cover of the Prophet for most of our life," Bill pointed out, and Harry reddened slightly. Sensing his discomfort, Charlie quickly changed the subject, as Hermione and Ginny slipped into the sitting room. Hermione lay down on the sofa, resting her head on Ron's chest, while Ginny took the armchair next to Harry, smiling fondly at him.

"What we _really _want to know, Audrey," said Charlie, "is how a pretty, funny, intelligent, wonderfully –"

"Stop it," growled Percy, and his older brother smirked.

"Alright, how _someone like you _ended up with our stuffy little brother."

"Stuffy?"

"Well, little Percy's always been straight as a ruler," Charlie continued, in a very bad imitation of Percy's bossy voice. At the phrase "little Percy", Harry first began to notice something in how Charlie and Bill treated Percy – it was the same "ickle brother" manner he had seen Fred and George treat Ron with so many times...

"I'd hardly call it _straight _to smuggle Muggle-borns out of the Ministry," Audrey said, with a slightly bitter tone. Charlie and Bill's jaws dropped in unison, and Arthur seemed to be awake for the first time, spluttering slightly and sitting bolt upright.

"YOU DID _WHAT?_" Bill cried, as Percy went bright red, and Audrey swelled.

"You can't think it's a bad thing, surely?" she admonished, sounding rather appalled.

"I don't, but he might have bloody told us," he replied, "we would have helped!"

"You would have helped?" Audrey said, and she looked slightly wrong-footed, having apparently taken Bill for a pureblood supremacist, something that was laughable to anyone who knew him. "But I thought he... well... disowned you? You _still _would have helped?"

Everyone in the room stiffened slightly. Harry had been wondering whether Percy would have had the courage to tell the girl what he had done to his family, but it seemed he did.

"What he did doesn't matter," Arthur said slowly, from the corner, "the Order wouldn't have just let that persecution go on because of a family row..."

"You were in the Order?" Audrey said, and this time it was her jaw's turn to drop. Harry was rather perplexed – how could she not know that?

"We all were. Everyone except Ginny – she was too young," Bill said slowly, and Ginny huffed slightly at the reminder.

"Bloody hell Perce, how much have you actually told her about us?" Charlie asked, as Audrey continued to stare at them incredulously.

"Next to nothing," his brother replied, sheepishly. "The Ministry suspected you, but they couldn't prove you were with the Order, otherwise they would have arrested Dad on the spot. I didn't tell anyone about you because I wanted to make sure they wouldn't _get _proof. If we got caught and interrogated, I'd be the only one implicated, and they already knew I'd cut ties with you all, so they couldn't have said you were involved..."

Everyone was gaping at Percy now. The idea of Percy, who was, as Charlie said, "straight as a ruler", smuggling people out of the Ministry... It would have seemed absurd a few years ago, but nothing seemed quite so strange any more. Arthur, who had rowed the worst with Percy during his estrangement, was looking at him with an enigmatic stare, as if weighing up his crimes and his penance to see if they matched.

"You smuggled the Muggle-borns out under their noses?"

"Not all of them," Percy said, sadly, "but if I was ever the one to take a 'delivery' from the Snatchers, I'd sneak them into my office on the way to the courtrooms, and make a Portkey to take them to my house. The Ministry might have put up Anti-Disapparition Jinxes, but they can't stop a Portkey..."

"So, that big breakout from the courtrooms, the one in the Prophet, that was you?" Charlie asked, and Harry's stomach dropped. He caught Ron and Hermione's eyes, and realised they would probably have to come clean about that particular incident sooner or later.

"No..." Percy murmured, "I smuggled people out in ones and twos, but never that many. I wish I knew who actually did it so I could shake their hand, brave sods..."

About as unsubtly as possible, Ron leaned over the side of his sofa and extended a solemn hand to Percy, whose eyes bulged, as Harry and Hermione broke into a sudden and simultaneous coughing fit.

"That was _you_?" Percy gasped, and Ron nodded, smirking at him. "And you two?" he said, to Harry and Hermione, who both nodded nervously in turn.

"Runcorn..." Mr Weasley whispered.

"What?" said Charlie, clearly confused by this latest turn of events.

"Albert Runcorn. He was one of Umbridge's lot, a foul man if ever there was one, but they arrested him for helping the Muggle-borns escape. I thought he was a scapegoat, but now I think of it, he gave me a warning that morning, about us being watched."

"Yeah... that was me," Harry muttered, and Arthur nodded in understanding, as if it all made sense now (which, Harry supposed, it did).

"So, Audrey," Fleur said, "you were one of ze...?"

"One of the Muggle-borns... yeah. I got caught by Snatchers when I was on my own. One moment they were handing me over at the Ministry, the next I was in Percy's office and he was handing me a paperweight."

As she recalled the event, she shuffled her chair a bit closer to Percy's, and took his hand.

"I thought he was a nutter, until I saw it was glowing, and then it all sort of made sense. I grabbed it, we ended up back in his apartment, and... well, I stayed. I didn't have a home or family to go back to, so he let me stay..."

She trailed off dreamily, but there was something in her words that made Harry's stomach turn to ice. _"I didn't have a home or family to go back to"_ sounded like the brief summary of a much darker tale that she evidently wanted to avoid. Personally, Harry was all too happy to let her avoid it.

"It's just one bit of good news after another, isn't it?" Charlie chuckled. "Kingsley's been made Minister, the Prophet's been closed, one of our brothers finally got his act together and hooked up with his perfect girl" – Ron and Hermione both blushed – "and another's a secret hero. Oh, and our sister's dating _Harry Potter_."

Charlie's timing really was impeccable. On the word "and", the door to the sitting room was beginning to open. By "sister", Molly had stepped into the room. As "dating Harry Potter" passed his lips, she dropped her tray of drinks and gaped at them across the room.

To his credit, Charlie seemed to know he'd made a mistake almost instantly. Ginny had gone rigid in her chair, staring murderously at him, and Harry was silently praying for a Dementor to swoop down and snuff out his soul. Charlie had just enough time to look at them, aghast, and mouth "sorry", before Molly had crossed the room and pulled both of them into a bone-crushing hug.

As Harry began to estimate how many of his ribs remained intact, and how much time Ginny had left before she was totally suffocated, Arthur stepped in, putting a hand on his wife's shoulder and giving her a knowing look. Abashed, Molly let go of them, and seemed to notice the smashed drinks and abandoned tray for the first time, as Harry and Ginny slumped back down into their chairs. She bustled over to the door, swept the ruined glasses and spilling butterbeer away with a flick of her wand, and headed back into the kitchen. Through the walls, they heard a shrill cry of "My little Ginny's dating Harry Potter!"

The sitting room was filled with an awkward silence. Charlie still looked as guilty as if he'd just _stabbed _Harry, but Bill, Percy and Ron were fighting back laughter, as their respective wife and girlfriends beamed at Harry and Ginny. Mr Weasley, who was back in his seat, was smiling, and looking thoughtful.

"I wonder if we've still got that firewhiskey from last Christmas. I hear it's wonderful for cleansing bad memories..."

"Why would you need that?" Ginny scowled, with a mixture of worry and suspicion on her face.

"I wouldn't, but I thought you two might," her father said, smiling warmly.

Alas, Molly returned with more butterbeer, not the mind-rotting whiskey Harry had been hoping for. She still seemed to be vaguely hovering in delight, but restrained herself from any more outbursts, sitting contentedly on the other side of Arthur. As he took a swig from his bottle, Harry was fervently praying that someone would change the mood, and Fleur delivered.

"Well, if zat is good news," she said, looking pointedly at Charlie, who looked ashamed, "I may 'ave more." She sat up, and rummaged silently in the satchel Harry had seen earlier, throwing out a hand mirror and some lipstick (as Bill looked on despairingly) before finally finding what she was looking for, and pulling a brown envelope out, before handing it to Charlie. Everyone's eyes were fixed on it, and Charlie gaped at her.

"You didn't..."

"My parents do, as you put it, 'ave their uses," Fleur smirked, and Harry's heart skipped a beat as a suspicion flitted into his mind. Charlie tore the top of the envelope open, took one look inside, and swore loudly.

"Charlie!" his mother protested.

"Sorry, but... bloody hell, Fleur!"

At this point, he realised everyone else was waiting for explanation or confirmation, and up-ended the envelope over the small coffee table in the middle of the room. At least twenty small slivers of golden card spilled out. Harry tilted his head slightly to read the nearest, and knew Ginny was doing the same next to him. It read:

_Quidditch World Cup – France 1998_

_Semi-Final A: TBD v TBD_

_05/06/98_

_17:00_

_Ticketholder: Mrs F. Weasley_

It took Harry's head a few seconds to process that "Mrs F. Weasley" was Fleur – his memories were still of "Miss Delacour" from the Triwizard Tournament. It took it a few _more _seconds to process that he was looking at tickets to the Quidditch World Cup... again. He looked across, and noticed with surprise that the ticket Ginny was holding was different to his. That one read:

_Quidditch World Cup – France 1998_

_Final: TBD v TBD_

_07/06/98_

_09:00_

_Ticketholder: Mrs F. Weasley_

"You got tickets for the final, too?" Ron said, looking surprised. "How did your parents manage _that_?"

"It is not so difficult," she said, "your father managed it too, remember?"

Ron's brow creased, and he muttered "oh yeah" as Arthur smiled at Fleur, apparently grateful for the recognition.

"Zere are tickets for ze semi-final and ze final for everyone, I think," Fleur continued, and by way of demonstration, Bill leant over and began to count them up into two piles. There were ten for the final, and ten for the semi-final, like Fleur said. As Bill did a quick headcount around the room, however, his brow furrowed.

"Buggar," he muttered. "Eleven."

"Oh, that's alright, you don't need to count me," Audrey piped up, "I'm not really-"

"Don't be silly, dear," Molly interrupted. "Take the tickets, I'd rather stay here."

"Are... are you sure, Molly?" Audrey murmured, but she was struggling to stop herself from smiling.

"Of course, dear. Quidditch has never really been my thing..."

She was being _partly _truthful, Harry thought. She hadn't attended the World Cup with them last time, that much was true, but he had a suspicion that something else was at work now. Whether she wanted to go or not, she definitely _didn't_ want to leave the Burrow unattended, in case George returned.

"Well...okay..." Audrey stammered, and the surge of euphoria Harry had felt before now returned, filling him up with excitement. If anything could take his mind off recent events, it was his old, reliable distraction, Quidditch, and the World Cup offered about as much Quidditch as he could possibly get...

"It's the 30th today," Bill mused, "so we've got five days before the semi-final. Me and Fleur have already gotten some time off."

"And I'm off work indefinitely," Charlie added, "The team said I should stay here until everything's been sorted out – the family, the Ministry..."

"D'you reckon you'll be able to get time off from Kingsley?" Ron said nervously, looking at his father and brother.

"I'm sure the Minister can do without his Junior Assistant," Percy smiled. Arthur gave him a funny look, which made Harry think he knew something Percy didn't, but then it lapsed into an enthusiastic smile.

"Yes, Misuse of Muggle Artefacts is hardly his priority right now, he won't miss me for a few days either," Arthur added.

"Right. What about accommodation? Do we need to find those bloody tents again?" Charlie said.

"Erm... zat... won't be necessary," Fleur said, smiling nervously. She was wearing the familiar expression of someone cradling a small bombshell. "Ze Delacour Mansio- erm, _'ouse_, is only a few minutes' walk from ze stadium. My parents are going to our...erm... _other _'ouse to get away from ze tourists coming to watch ze World Cup, so it will be empty."

Fleur was clearly embarrassed about discussing her family's mansion and second home in front of the famously poor Weasleys – Harry knew the feeling all too well, after visiting his own gold-heaped vault at Gringotts with them. None of the Weasleys, however, seemed to even acknowledge the Delacours' apparent wealth, or maybe they were deliberately trying not to embarrass Fleur. Either way, they all appeared fully occupied with the prospect of staying in a mansion, not a mass campsite. Finally, Charlie summed up their thoughts.

"You're a sweet, sweet angel, Fleur," he said, grinning.

"Uh, that's my wife you're talking about," Bill muttered.

"Then you married an angel. Good choice."


	20. Chapter 20: In France

**Chapter 20 - In France**

Over the days leading up to the Quidditch World Cup, Harry's excitement grew and grew, as did everyone else's. Ginny and Charlie, his fellow Quidditch fanatics (and fellow Seekers) also seemed to be swelling with happiness at the prospect. The semi-final they were set to see wouldn't take place until the fifth of June, but the actual World Cup started the day after Lupin and Tonks' funeral. Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny made almost daily visits to Hogwarts, meeting up with Seamus, Dean, Luna and Neville for lunch, spending afternoons in the grounds, Hogsmeade, or the common room, and then returning to the Burrow for evenings of speculation with Bill, Charlie and Percy, or planning with Arthur and Fleur. The speculation in particular was much easier after spending the afternoon was Seamus – he was, if it was possible, even more fanatical about Quidditch than Harry or Ginny, and was constantly discussing the various teams and results. When they revealed they were going to see both the semi-final and the final, Seamus (and everyone else, for that matter) was awestruck.

By the third of June, the day before they were set to leave for France, they had been filled in on almost every result, the forms of the various teams, and the fixtures for the coming matches. The English team (who were definite underdogs, having only found out they were playing in the World Cup two weeks beforehand) had managed to beat the USA that morning, courtesy of a 150-point Snitch catch, securing themselves a place in the second semi-final against Spain. The first semi-final, the one they would be watching, would see the home team, France, facing the Nordic Team, an odd composite of most of Scandinavia.

Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny were traipsing back towards the Burrow, having Disapparated at the edge of the property, as the sun began to set, casting a red glow over the fields. Harry's mind was milling something over – Ginny had been very quiet all afternoon, not excited, as she had been for the last few days. He didn't have time to ponder it, though, before they reached the front door to the Burrow. When they stepped inside, everyone was gathered in the sitting room once more. Harry stood by the doorway, and Ginny stood next to him, holding his hand, while Ron and Hermione fell down into the last two unoccupied armchairs. Mr Weasley nodded as they entered, and began.

"Right then... we'll be leaving tomorrow morning, the Portkey's set to go at eight o'clock."

"Where's it leaving from?"

"Stoatshead Hill," Arthur said, and then added grimly, "Just like last time. We'll need to be up good and early to get there in time. Five o'clock if you want breakfast, six if you can go without."

"Five it is," said Ron and Charlie, in perfect unison.

"Ze Portkey will go to ze main camp site," Fleur continued, "We couldn't organise an international Portkey just to take us to a private 'ome. So, my father will be waiting for us with a second Portkey to take us to ze 'ouse."

"The other thing we need to sort out is rooms," Arthur said.

"Zere are plenty of bedrooms at ze 'ouse," Fleur nodded. "Bill and I can share one, Percy and Audrey the next, Arthur and Charlie can 'ave rooms to themselves, zen 'Arry and Ron, and Ginny and 'Ermione."

Harry desperately wanted to protest, and he knew Ginny did too, but they both knew it would be a futile effort. Firstly, Ginny wouldn't be of age for another month or so, and secondly, Molly wouldn't allow it even if she _was _of age – hence Ron and Hermione were keeping quiet, too.

"Well, if that's all sorted," Mr Weasley said, "then I think we could all do with a glass of butterbeer and an early night."

One glass of butterbeer later, everyone began to file upstairs for the night, all feeling rather ominous about starting at five o'clock in the morning. As he got ready to climb into the spare bed they had conjured in Ron's room, Harry checked everything was in order – the same rucksack he had used for the Horcrux hunt was now packed with several changes of clothes, a money bag, and five tiny crystal vials, held safely inside a wooden box – all five were brimmed with glistening purple potion. He had gone to see Professor Slughorn on one of their visits to Hogwarts, and had managed to procure six doses of the "Draught of Dreamless Sleep" from him. The five vials inside his bag were enough to keep his nights peaceful for the entire trip.

With everything in order, he dropped into bed, plucked the sixth vial from his pocket, and downed it. It wouldn't do to be having nightmares when he needed to be up so early. In less than a minute, he had drifted into a blissful sleep.

When he woke again, he rolled out of bed and scrabbled about until he found his watch. He glanced at the dial, then did a double take, and sprang upright. It was twenty to six, giving him twenty minutes before they set off. Hurriedly, he pulled on the jeans and t-shirt he had left on his bed from yesterday, slung a shirt on over the top, slipped into his shoes, and shot out of the room, grabbing his rucksack with one hand as he did, and trying to clamp Fabian Prewett's watch shut with the other. When he appeared in the kitchen, Charlie and Ginny were waiting, both smirking at him. The others were apparently outside already.

"Ah, The Chosen One has finally decided to join us," Charlie smirked.

"Oh, shut up, I can't help it if those potions make me sleep," Harry scowled. He had told the Weasleys he had been "prescribed" the dreamless sleep potions so that they wouldn't be alarmed if they found them, or saw him drinking them. Only Ron, Hermione and Ginny knew otherwise, and they all seemed fine with the idea, if it helped him get over his guilt.

"Here, Chosen One, eat some toast," Ginny muttered, slinging a piece at him like a frisbee as she spoke. He dropped his rucksack and caught if deftly in one hand, then held one corner in his teeth as he continued trying to shut the clasp of Fabian's battered pocket watch.

Twenty minutes later, he had eaten a few more pieces of toast, succeeded in finally clamping the watch shut, and had joined the others in the front yard, where they were getting ready to leave, watched by an anxious Molly. The sun was just beginning to penetrate the pale twilight as they set off, and was shining behind them, casting rays of light over their shoulders as they set off in the direction of the waiting Portkey.

Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny were all a bit older and bigger than they had been the last time they trekked over Stoatshead Hill, and found it far easier going than they had before (although Harry still wondered why they couldn't just Apparate there, and take Ginny side-along). Even though they stopped twice for drinks and to rest their legs, Arthur's estimate of two hours proved to be conservative, and they arrived in just under an hour and a half. Harry was bitterly reminded of what had happened after he took a Portkey from here the last time (and, for that matter, what had happened the last time he took a Portkey at all) as they spread out to try and find the thing. Eventually, Percy found it – an old, broken alarm clock, which had been hidden in a bin to stop passing Muggles noticing the faint blue glow emanating from it. Arthur took it gratefully, and checked his watch.

"Good timing, we've got about ten minutes. It doesn't _look _like anyone else is joining us..."

They spent the last ten minutes checking they had everything they needed (although in all honesty it was too late if they didn't) before Arthur took another look at his watch and called everyone together.

"Right, it's time," he said, and the alarm clock was indeed beginning to glow in earnest now. "Hands in."

Everyone stuck out their index fingers and placed them on the clock as Arthur held it out with one arm, checking his watch on the other. Just as Harry was about to ask how long was left, he felt the familiar hook-like pull on his navel and was rocketing forward, with his finger clamped to the broken clock. The sheer distance they were travelling was very noticeable – on the other occasions he had used a Portkey, they had reached the destination in seconds, but this cross-channel one seemed to drag them onward through the blue haze for at least a minute, maybe two, before they stumbled to a halt at the other end.

The French sky was the same vibrant blue colour they had left behind in England, but the air was warmer, and Harry was thankful for the cool breeze that was sweeping over them, staving off the heat. Most of the party, Harry included, had managed to stay on their feet; Hermione and Audrey were the only ones who had fallen, and were now being helped up by Ron and Percy respectively. As everyone else got their bearings, Bill and Fleur were already striding away, towards a short, black-bearded man who was grinning at the sight of them.

"Papa!" Fleur said, and hugged her father, as he laughed.

"Ah, my little girl," he murmured, then corrected, "Madame Weasley now, is it not?"

Fleur blushed and smiled as she broke away. Her father proceeded to shake hands with Bill and Arthur, before handing the latter a small plate from the pocket of his robes. Like the alarm clock on Stoatshead Hill, it was glowing faintly blue.

"It should leave in... two minutes," Monsieur Delacour said, as he checked his watch. "Enjoy yourselves. Apolline sends 'er regards!"

With that, he whirled around and disappeared with a smooth pop, as the Weasleys and company crowded around Arthur again, placing their fingers on the plate. This time, Arthur counted it down.

"3...2..." he began, but had only just gotten past two when the blue light peaked, and they were tugged forward. Compared to the huge cross-channel journey, this was just a quick hop of about half a mile, and took no more than a few seconds. When they arrived, Mr Weasley shook his watch, and muttered, "Hmm... must be a bit slow..."

Slowly, everyone's gaze began to shift to the Delacour "House" (Harry thought mansion was a far more accurate description, in hindsight), and Fleur looked rather nervous, still seemingly embarrassed about her wealth.

The mansion itself was a huge, square building, made of sandstone that gave it a pale, peach-like colour. All three stories were framed with hugely ornate windows, and lush gardens ran outwards in all directions. They were neatly bordered by box hedges, containing great rows of colourful roses and, in one corner, what appeared to be a small vineyard. Fleur had mentioned during one of the planning sessions that there were more gardens and a sizeable pool on the other side of the building.

"Well..." Fleur said. "Let us not sit 'ere all day! Come on in!"

With that, they set off for the great wooden front doors, but Mr Weasley stopped Harry, Ginny, Ron and Hermione on the steps, and spoke in a conspiratorial murmur.

"Listen," he began, "I know you didn't object because of your mother, but... well, what Molly doesn't know won't hurt her. So long as not a _word _of this gets back to her, I would have no object if Harry and Hermione were to, ah... _swap_."

They all looked at each other, grinned, then turned back to Arthur and nodded in agreement.

"Excellent. And remember, not a _word _of this to your mother."

"You say that quite a lot," Ron noted, sarcastically.

"Yes, and with good reason," his father replied. At that, Ron and Ginny simply nodded as if to say _"fair enough"_, and they all headed inside.

Fleur and Bill had staked a claim to the master bedroom on the second floor, while Percy and Audrey took Fleur's old room, just down the corridor from it. The others were scattered across various guest rooms, with Arthur taking one at the far end of the second floor which he said was "sufficiently far from everyone else's rooms to be quiet", Harry and Ginny and Ron and Hermione settling in adjacent rooms on the third floor, and Charlie choosing a room on the first floor, right next to the frankly palatial kitchen and dining room.

After unpacking their things, they congregated in the grand entrance hall again, searching for something to do. Eventually, everyone decided on the pool except Mr Weasley, who opted to go and explore the nearby Wizarding village, something that would have been decidedly pointless with his broken French, were it not for the fact that the village was currently flooded with Quidditch fans from all over the world, including a healthy contingent of Brits, Americans and Australians, which had forced the shopkeepers to learn at least passable English.

Harry ran upstairs to his room, along with Ginny, as Ron and Hermione disappeared into the room next door. As Ginny tried to find her own swimwear in one of the room's cavernous dressers (having already loaded her entire wardrobe into it upon their arrival), Harry quickly found a pair of trunks and disappeared into the bathroom to change. When he emerged, she had her back to him, and was just finishing the process of changing into a black bikini – as he shut the bathroom door with a click, she looked over her shoulder, and nodded to her back.

"Give me a hand, will you?" she purred. Harry walked over, took the two string ends of her bikini top out of her hands, and quickly knotted them behind her back, before pulling them taut.

"All done," he murmured, and she turned around, smiling sweetly at him. Without warning, she leant forward and kissed him on the lips, placing her hands around his neck. Impulsively, he returned the favour, resting his own hands on her hips. They broke apart after a minute or two, breathless, and silently headed for the door. Harry couldn't help noticing that even through the kiss, she had a slightly troubled look in her eyes. He resolved to ask her about it later on. Now, though, it was time to relax.

Harry and Ginny were the last to arrive at the poolside. Hermione was off to one side, chatting to Audrey and Percy, while Ron was talking to Charlie. As they approached, Charlie spotted them, and with everyone assembled, he shot Bill a quick thumbs up behind Fleur's back. Bill nodded, and, mid-conversation, pointed over Harry's head.

"Fleur, what _is _that?" he said.

"What's what?" she replied, turning around to follow his gaze. Bill smirked, and Charlie almost doubled over, laughing in anticipation, as Harry realised what was about to happen. Without warning, Bill grabbed Fleur around the midriff, lifted her into the air as she cried out in surprise, then lunged sideways, dropping into the water with Fleur still held in his arms. As they hit the surface, Fleur grabbed hold of his neck and curled her legs around his, determined to take him down with her.

While Bill and Fleur grappled in the water, finally breaking the surface and taking twin gasps for air, Charlie, Harry and Ron looked at each other, shrugged, and then sprinted to the edge before diving in gracelessly, showering water up into the air and over the sides of the pool. A moment later, Audrey dived in with surprising grace, shortly followed by Percy, Hermione, and then Ginny.

For the third time in a week, Harry was utterly soaked, but this time it was not an unpleasant experience. In the warm French air, the cool water seemed crisp, and refreshing. They spent at least two or three hours revelling in the pool – swimming lengths, diving in off the sides, and generally relaxing. At one point, Hermione went upstairs to retrieve her wand, and conjured an inflatable beach ball, which they proceeded to hurl around the pool to each other. At _another _point, the Weasley brothers engaged in a spot of wrestling. Ron climbed onto Percy's shoulders, and Bill onto Charlie's, and as Percy and Charlie continued to tread water, the youngest and oldest Weasley brother tried to hurl each other into the water. Eventually, after several minutes of fierce grappling, Bill got the upper hand, tipping Ron off Percy's shoulders, and dunking Percy's head under the water at the same time.

By midday, they were beginning to haul themselves out of the pool, one by one. Harry and Ginny were the last to clamber out, and traipsed up the stairs. Arthur was still out in the village, and everyone had now dispersed to their rooms to dry off, except for Charlie, who was apparently rummaging in the larder for something to cook.

Once they reached their room, Harry decided he had better just ask Ginny what was the matter – she was smiling contentedly, but she had that worried glint in her eyes again. They fetched towels from the bathroom, and spent several minutes drying off, before he finally took her hand, sat her down on the bed, and decided to broach the subject.

"Ginny... is something the matter? You look worried," he said, and Ginny tilted her head to one side, as if surprised – apparently, he was exhibiting Hermione's skills of mind-reading.

"It's nothing, really," she said, waving off the question, but he kept hold of her hands.

"I want to know if something's bothering you, Gin..."

"Alright, fine. I didn't want you getting all worried like you usually do, but if you really want to know..."

"Yes, I do."

"I'm worried about Luna," she said, simply, and the statement took Harry aback slightly. If there was anyone he _wasn't _worried about at present, it was Luna. She had seemed perfectly happy whenever he'd seen her.

"Why?" was about all he could manage to say, and Ginny sighed.

"Harry, she hasn't been home in weeks..."

"What? Hasn't been- what?"

"She told me yesterday. She said she'd had a big row with her dad. That's weird enough as it is, she never fights with him, but apparently she hasn't been back home since."

"So, Luna's been living at Hogwarts?" Harry guessed, and Ginny nodded.

"It just worries me. You know how close she was to her dad... What could he have done that's bad enough for her to just run away?"

Harry was silent, still holding Ginny's hand. Even now, months after the events had taken place, there were many details of the Horcrux hunt he had yet to tell her about. The trip to Godric's Hollow, the break-in at Gringotts... and Xenophilius Lovegood's attempt to sell them to the Death Eaters.

Despite his suspicions, and his knowledge that it must be so, Harry fervently hoped Luna hadn't found out what her father had done...


	21. Chapter 21: On The Subject of Scars

**A/N: Thanks for the reviews, everyone! Please keep it up, there's honestly no better motivation than a good review. Also, sorry for the slightly shorter chapters, that's just a necessary evil due to the way I've had to divide the story, so please bear with it.**

**Chapter 21 - On The Subject of Scars**

"You think she found out?" Hermione gasped.

After her revelation, Harry had told Ginny not to worry about it until they got back to England, and subsequently began worrying about it himself. They had gathered in the kitchen for lunch (Charlie had found a whole duck in the larder, and had spent the last hour roasting and carving up enough for nine people) and after a frankly excellent meal, Harry had set about trying to talk to Ron and Hermione on their own.

It was tricky, to say the least. When everyone was gathered together, Harry had Ginny at his side almost non-stop, and he didn't want to worry her by discussing the matter around her, not yet, at least. On the other hand, he didn't dare approach Ron and Hermione when everyone had returned to their rooms after the incident in Hermione's dormitory... Eventually, Audrey had agreed to help him out, much to his surprise – she had struck up a conversation with Ginny, discussing everything from Quidditch to Hogwarts to Harry himself. The latter was a smart move as, according to Ron, she could talk all day about him. With Ginny distracted, he had beckoned for Ron and Hermione to follow, and slipped off down a side corridor, finding a lounge-like room that was abandoned, and ducking inside.

He had quickly explained the situation with Luna – Ron and Hermione reacted with the same level of surprise as he had – and began discussing the matter of Xenophilius' betrayal.

"How could she, though?" Ron said. "The only people who know are us, the Death Eaters, and old man Xenophilius himself. Well, the Death Eaters can't tell her, and she wouldn't listen if they could. You two didn't tell her, did you?"

They both shook their heads.

"And her dad wouldn't tell her he'd betrayed three of her best friends to the Death Eaters, would he? So how could she find out?"

Harry looked across at Hermione. They both looked uncertain, and seemed to be having the same suspicions.

"What if he confessed?" Harry said.

"Why would he, though?" Ron persisted. "No-one knows..."

"Maybe he felt guilty," Hermione said, looking rather sad. "He told us at the time he was doing it to get her back. Maybe he thought she'd forgive him because he was trying to save her?"

"Well, that plan backfired, didn't it?" Harry scoffed, "She hasn't spoken to him since."

"D'you think we should-" Ron began, but was interrupted by the sound of a door opening. The trio all looked round, as Bill poked his head through the doorway.

"Dad's back," he said, cheerfully, then added, "What are you all doing in here?"

"Emergency talks," Ron said, and then, without a hint of shame, "She's pregnant."

Bill's face flashed with momentary amazement, before he realised Ron was joking – at the same time, Hermione lunged at Ron, and slapped him hard on the arm. She seemed to reconsider for a moment, and then hit him several _more _times, although Harry couldn't help noticing she was blushing.

Bill shook his head and chuckled, then left the room.

"What did you say that for?" Hermione moaned, hitting Ron again as they wandered out of the room.

"Wishful thinking," Harry muttered, which earned him a few hits, too.

When they emerged into the entrance hall with Bill, Mr Weasley was chatting to Charlie and looking thoroughly happy with his little adventure. He was clutching a local newspaper (which was, rather unhelpfully, written in French) and a bag containing various odds and ends he'd bought in the village. Just as they approached, Charlie, who was grinning broadly, darted past them, heading for the kitchens. Harry thought he'd gone to get more food, but he actually went into his bedroom, next-door, and emerged in a pair of jeans and a brown dragon-skin jacket that seemed to have been burned in several places along the arms – probably his workwear as well as casualwear, Harry guessed.

"Where are you going?" Bill asked, as Charlie hurried past and made for the door.

"Dad met one of the Aussies from my team down in the pub; I'm going for a drink!"

Bill just rolled his eyes at this, as Charlie stepped out through the great wooden front doors, and Harry suspected that was the last they'd see of Charlie for the day.

"How was the village, Dad?" Ron said, brightly.

"Brilliant! Shame there's no Muggles about, though. Still, I know where the owl office is now, and the pubs, oh, and there's a sweet shop you lot might be interested in..."

"Arthur, I could 'ave told you that, I _lived_ 'ere," Fleur sighed, and Arthur looked as if he was considering this for the first time. He seemed happy and relaxed, though, and that was what mattered.

Harry ran upstairs to change with Ginny (everyone had lazily eaten lunch in their swimwear), with the two of them deciding on some exploration for the afternoon. When they got upstairs, however, and he began to search for some clean clothes in the dresser, he felt the odd sensation of someone staring at him. He turned around, and saw Ginny, head tilted to one side as if assessing him.

"You've got new scars," she muttered.

"Oh... yeah, a few," he replied, and made to turn away again, but she moved closer, and put a hand on his chest.

"Bill says every scar has a story..." she said in an airy tone, sounding surprisingly like Luna. "Mind you, Charlie says he only says that to look interesting... but he has a point, doesn't he?"

"I guess," Harry mumbled, as Ginny pulled him over to the bed and sat down with him, scrutinising the pale marks all over his body.

"No need to explain this one," she smiled, running her fingers over the hated lightning bolt on his forehead. "But this is new, isn't it?"

Harry looked down – she was pointing at a large, pale blotch over his heart.

"It's a few months old. The locket Ron talked about? Salazar Slytherin's locket? When we went to Godric's Hollow" – he carefully avoided mentioning that Nagini had attacked them – "it sort of clamped itself to my chest. Hermione cut it off, but I got some pretty bad burns from it. That's where that scar came from."

Ginny nodded, and traced her hand silently up to the crook of his left arm, where a thick white scar seemed to form a slit in his skin.

"Fourth year. Pettigrew took my blood for... you know..." he trailed off, unable to say _"to resurrect Voldemort"_. Ginny nodded, and cursed the rat, almost inaudibly, with words Harry was sure her mother wouldn't have approved of. Her hands ran up his shoulder, until they found the two little white dots, at the point where his neck met his shoulder.

"These look recent... were these from Diagon Alley?"

Harry nodded.

"Snake bite. Dolohov conjured one during the duel."

Ginny shuddered at the thought, and then continued to scan his torso. Harry was mentally pre-empting her, trying to think what other scars he had that she could spot... There was the Acromantula bite on his thigh, from the Triwizard Tournament, still scarred, but healed by Phoenix tears. That was hidden beneath his trunks though, which left...

"Umbridge," she growled, holding his right hand. The words _"I must not tell lies"_ were still carved into the back of Harry's hand, but they were faint now. The words were barely legible unless he scrunched his fist up, and merely resembled a long, white blotch across the skin, like he'd been cut across the back of his hand with a jagged blade. He had already explained the blood quill incident to Ginny before, and felt no desire to do so again. However, as her hand ran up his arm, he remembered another scar, another wound healed by phoenix tears which had still left an ugly reminder on his skin, and one which he had hoped she wouldn't find, for the sake of her memories, not his.

Sure enough, her fingers tightened around his forearm, close to the crook of his elbow. The scar there consisted of a central, circular spot, with crooked lines trailing outwards that looked like tongues of flames. Like a bullet wound, the skin around the edge had been twisted around, giving it a slightly distorted look.

"Was this...?" she began, but trailed off, her voice breaking slightly.

"The basilisk... yeah..."

Ginny looked very subdued, and Harry understood why. On one of their visits to Hogwarts, Ron had said that the only two things which had ever brought Ginny to tears were Fred's very real death, and Harry's very fake one. Harry, however, knew that wasn't true. Ron hadn't been in the Chamber of Secrets with him. He hadn't heard the full story of what had happened to her, just Harry's second-hand account...

Slowly, he wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly. She, in turn, buried her face in his chest, shaking slightly, as the painful memories came flooding back to both of them. Harry knew hers were worse – for him, it was just the memory of the basilisk, and his fear for her life. For Ginny, it was the revelation of what she had done, the betrayal of Riddle, the knowledge that she was to die, alone in the dark, and then the sweet awakening, only to see her saviour, mortally wounded... Harry just held her close, as he felt a few tears trickle onto his bare chest.

* * *

><p>Next door, Ron was also thinking of scars. He and Hermione, like everyone else, had retreated to their room to change. They didn't bother going into separate rooms as they undressed, because they were mature, sensible adults. Or at least, one of them was.<p>

As he pulled on a pair of jeans, Ron couldn't help looking over at Hermione. Something had caught his eye, and set off a chain of bitter memories inside his mind's eye. On her neck, tracing over her throat, a thin white line stood out. His mind still remembered the little beads of blood emerging from that same line, and he shuddered, as he inwardly swore _"Never again"_. He was just reaching for a shirt when Hermione caught his eye, followed his gaze, and once again showed her uncanny skills of perception, for she instinctively shot up a hand, nervously rubbing the scar on her throat. Ron had noticed her doing it for weeks, a compulsive twitch whenever the memories of that day surfaced. He smiled sadly at her, and she smiled weakly back.

"I was too late," Ron muttered, more to himself than to Hermione, but she still stared reproachfully back as she finished fixing the clasp of her bra.

"I never thought I'd see you again," she said, drawing closer, "The way I see it, you were early..."

He chuckled grimly, but still didn't look convinced. He still blamed himself for leaving her, for failing her, for nearly losing her...

"You saved me," she purred, and pulled him down onto the edge of the bed, sitting next to him. "I guess some things never change."

"How d'you mean?" he muttered, his curiosity momentarily overcoming his guilt and sorrow.

"First year? You saved me from a troll?" Hermione said, eyebrow raised as if she was _obviously _talking about a troll.

"Oh, yeah... well, it wasn't _just _me, Harry was there too..."

Hermione scowled. Ron knew his pride had always been dented by being the latest in a long line of successful brothers, or by being the "sidekick" to famous Harry Potter. Hermione, however, knew that that also made his pride very easy to assuage.

"The way I remember it, he just stuck his wand up its nose and made it angrier. _You _were the one who knocked it out," she said, coolly.

Sure enough, he felt his face go a little bit redder, and his lips curled just a little bit further into a smile.

"Harry might be a hero," she continued, "but I want _my _hero..." With that, she leant over and kissed him on the lips. He abandoned any thought of restraint and kissed her back, placing his hands around her waist and lifting her up to sit on his knees. She grabbed him around the neck with her own hands, pulling him into the blissful embrace.

Quite suddenly, a question seemed to flicker into life behind her eyes, and she broke away. Ron was slightly concerned, and watched her face closely as she spoke.

"Ron..."

"Yeah?"

"Why did you tell Bill I was pregnant?" she said, evidently wondering why this was the first excuse he thought of. Ron let out a sigh of relief – he'd been expecting something much worse. He shook his head, and chuckled.

"Wishful thinking?" he grinned.

Hermione grinned back, and they both tumbled backwards onto the bed, locking lips once more.


	22. Chapter 22: Hangovers

**Chapter 22 - Hangovers**

When the two couples finally emerged from their rooms (with Ron and Hermione looking a lot more cheerful, while Harry and Ginny looked a lot more solemn), they set about occupying their evening with a casual trip through the village.

During their preparation sessions at the Burrow, Fleur had been unable to show them where the World Cup stadium was – it had been made Unplottable – but she _had _been able to show them the spot where the Delacour Mansion stood, in the countryside south of Bordeaux. The little village looked like a postcard from the south of France, but with a few little oddities that only a Wizarding community could possess. Dull hoots resonated from the local owlery, and the occasional crackle of a household spell buzzed into the air. The marketplace was the most obvious difference – there were no stacks of local produce and souvenirs, but whole stands devoted to thick, glossy tomes, broomsticks, cauldrons, various foul-smelling potion ingredients, and, a more recent addition, Quidditch memorabilia.

The marketplace – and the rest of the village, for that matter – was packed with wizards and witches of all creeds and appearances. Many were sporting scarves and novelty hats in their teams' colours, and the occasional pitch-side chant would break out in the streets (largely, Harry noticed, from the more boisterous Irish and Australian fans). There was even a small punch-up in front of them, as a wiry Frenchman was beaten to a pulp by a large, tough-looking Norwegian.

The sweet shop and inn Mr Weasley had mentioned were fairly easy to find, as it turned out. To find the sweet shop, they only had to follow the stream of excited children and exasperated mothers. Inside, the shelves were lined with confectionary, although Harry found it distinctly _boring_. There were plate-sized chocolate Galleons, crystalline quills that looked too delicate to pick up, and huge mounds of strangely-glowing truffles, but there was no novelty value to the products. It was not like Honeydukes, with customers spouting steam from Pepper Imps, or tricking friends into eating a Cockroach Cluster. Fine though the craftsmanship was, it was little better than a Muggle shop.

To find the inn, they had to follow the steady stream of fathers (escaping from the aforementioned excited children and exasperated mothers) going in, or back-track along the trickle of rather more inebriated men stumbling _out _of the inn. The place looked pleasant enough, rather reminiscent of an international Three Broomsticks, but it was packed to the rafters. Harry spotted Charlie, crammed into one corner with a tanned, blonde girl who must have been one of the Australian dragon keepers he'd mentioned. They decided not to go and talk to him, because there was barely room for _one_ person to walk through the bar, let alone four.

By the time they all traipsed back to the Delacour Mansion, the only one of them who had bought anything was Hermione – she had purchased a large, eagle-feather quill, and a huge stack of potion ingredients that were apparently cheaper here than in England. When they arrived, Charlie was still out in the village, leaving Bill and Fleur to cook, and the others were settling down around a huge pot of chilli.

After eating, they retired to one of the huge lounges (which did nothing to help Fleur's embarrassment), and over the course of the evening they filtered off, until only Harry, Ron, Bill, and Percy were left, drinking firewhiskey from the cellar at one in the morning.

"C'mon," Ron muttered at last, vanishing his glass and standing up. "Let's get to bed. Quidditch tomorrow."

All four boys grinned at the thought, and headed for the door, one by one.

* * *

><p>Ron awoke at ten o'clock the next morning, to the sight of Hermione's peaceful, sleeping face. He smiled slightly at the sight of her, and eased himself out of bed as quietly as he could. His head was throbbing, and his tongue felt heavy in his mouth... <em>"Damn whiskey," <em>he thought.

Still shirtless, he pulled on a pair of battered old jeans, pulled the covers up over Hermione's bare shoulders, and leant over to kiss her forehead. She gave a little murmur in her sleep, and rolled over, her lips twisting into a smile, as Ron slipped out of the room, shutting the door silently behind him.

The Delacour Mansion was silent for possibly the first time since the Weasleys had taken it over. Harry and Ginny were still in their room, and only a locked door prevented Ron from indulging his brotherly curiosity and checking up on them. Going down a floor, the three bedrooms were all quiet too, with their occupants choosing to sleep in before the match, later in the afternoon. As he descended to the first floor, however, he heard a shuffling in the kitchen, and entered to find Charlie stood over the stove, looking even groggier than Ron, if that was possible.

"Hangover?" Ron moaned.

"You have _no _idea," Charlie scowled.

Ron leant around him, and saw a frying pan on the top of the stove, filled with bacon and sizzling invitingly. As Charlie lifted it off the fire, they heard a door opening, and a little gasp of surprise. Both Weasley brothers turned in time to see a girl fleeing from the open doorway of Charlie's room, wearing only a short white dress. Ron caught a glimpse of long, tanned legs, and sandy blonde hair he had last seen in the village inn.

"Just a colleague?" he teased, eyebrow raised. Charlie didn't reply, just scowled, rubbed his aching brow, and tipped the bacon onto a plate. He began piling it between two slices of bread, then drew out his wand and muttered _"Geminio"_. A second plate sprang up next to the first, identical in every regard.

Ron made to grab one, but Charlie held up a hand, wordlessly telling him to wait, as he reached for the sideboard. A half-empty bottle of firewhiskey stood there, and he poured out two shots, passing one to Ron.

"_More _booze?" Ron said, sceptically. His stomach churned in protest at the thought of drinking any more of the stuff.

"Trust me on this," his brother mumbled.

Charlie tipped his head back, and gulped down the contents of the little shot glass. Ron followed suit, forcing himself to drink despite his mental protests, and as soon as the liquid hit his throat, all resistance faded from his whiskey-addled mind. It burned, as firewhiskey always did, but as soon as the warm liquid hit his stomach, he felt the knots in his gut loosen slightly, and the pain in his head was dulled slightly.

"Hair of the dog," Charlie continued, "second best cure for a hangover, right behind a bacon sarnie. Eat up."

They ate in silence from the kitchen counter, and once again, Ron found that Charlie did know what he was talking about (in hindsight, he'd been getting drunk for a lot longer than Ron had). The bread seemed to soak up the alcohol in his stomach, and the bacon was wonderfully salty, liberating his blunted taste buds. A few minutes later, he had finished, as had Charlie, and both brothers let out a contented sigh. Ron still felt a bit tired and groggy, but his headaches had faded, and he had at least two more of his senses back.

With everyone else in the house asleep, Ron and Charlie went for a brief swim in the pool, which helped their hangovers still further, then got changed, fetched brooms, and held a lengthy penalty shoot-out over the mansion's spacious gardens, having conjured a floating metal hoop to serve as a goal. By the time they returned to the house, around midday, the others were starting to wake up, coming down in ones and twos until everyone was assembled in the kitchen, with Harry, Bill and Percy resorting to the same strategy as Ron and Charlie to curb their hangovers, finishing off the bottle of firewhiskey.

Hermione and Mr Weasley took it upon themselves to cook lunch, as the others traipsed outside. The air of excitement for the match that afternoon made Quidditch the natural choice for occupying their time, and after Harry and Audrey found broomsticks inside one of the mansion's spare rooms, the assembled company took off for a quick game before lunch.

Ron wasn't at all surprised that the first suggestion (Charlie's) was a rematch of Weasleys vs. The World. None of "The World", however, felt like playing at a two-player disadvantage, so he was forced to rethink his plan. Finally, they decided on teams – Ron took to the air with Charlie, Bill and Fleur, as Harry, Ginny, Percy and Audrey flew to the far end, before Fleur and Charlie conjured two twin sets of hoops, like the one Ron and Charlie had practiced on that morning.

With Ron and Percy playing Keeper at their respective ends, the remaining six players met in the middle as Chasers. Fleur had dug out a Quaffle from the same room Harry and Audrey had found their brooms in, and there were no Muggles for miles around, so it was safe to use one. She and Audrey levitated it between them, sending it shooting upwards at the same time to keep things fair, and suddenly the air was thick with flying figures, half of them sporting blazing red hair. Ron, unable to keep up with the action, settled for patrolling the hoops, trying to keep his eyes on the Quaffle, not on who was holding it. That strategy failed the first time the Quaffle flew out of the central hive of activity – it was in Ginny's hands, and Ron was too late to stop it soaring through the far post.

Ron's instincts as a Keeper were usually good, but the small, impromptu pitch forced all of the action into a much smaller space, and he found himself wishing he had Harry's quick, keen, Seeker's eyes. After an hour or so of racing around above the gardens, he had grown accustomed to it, but, although there was no enchanted scoreboard, his own tally stood at around one hundred and twenty to ninety to the other team. He was a better Keeper than Percy, but Harry and Ginny made a formidable offensive pair – Harry was quick and agile, and Ginny was a dead-eye shot in front of the hoops, not to mention the seemingly psychic co-ordination the duo shared.

The game only ended when Hermione strode outside and told them the food was ready. Ginny took the chance to lob another shot past Ron while he was distracted, and then they all headed back down to the ground to eat.

After devouring ten peoples' worth of roast chicken with all the trimmings (that particular phrase confused Ron – he'd never heard of anyone having a roast dinner with just _some _of the trimmings), the group spent an hour nursing bloated stomachs.

"I'm not going to eat for a week..." Charlie moaned, sprawled out in an armchair in one of the sitting rooms.

"Who are you, and who have you done with Charlie?" Bill smiled, but it was a half-hearted effort, as he too seemed utterly stuffed. Everyone looked as if they'd put on several pounds in the space of a few minutes, and Ron half-expected Bill to make a remark about Hermione _really _being pregnant, but he seemed too weary to crack the obvious joke.

As the hours passed, they gradually began to de-bloat (or whatever the proper word was), and the mood shifted from weariness to one of excitement, as the game approached. Finally, with about half an hour to go before kick-off, Mr Weasley stood up and announced that they should set off.

* * *

><p>The stadium was just ten minutes' walk from the Delacour mansion. Harry was walking with Ginny, Ron and Hermione when they got their first glimpse of it beyond the shimmering veil of magical charms and wards around it. As Fleur stepped up, brandishing the wad of tickets in her hand, the barrier seemed to tear aside, and they saw the huge, sandstone bulk of the stadium. It was not, like the British World Cup stadium, a huge wooden construction. Instead, the French stadium looked rather like the mansion they had just left, but at least ten times larger. The huge, peach-coloured walls towered upwards, casting great shadows over the surrounding area, as the general noise of excited fans rose up from the centre.<p>

Fleur set off towards the edge of the stadium, and everyone else followed her. When they finally reached the titanic building, Harry could see a number of semi-circular tunnels that ran through the side wall and provided access to the stadium's interior, each attended by a witch or wizard. People were piling steadily in, but the Weasley party seemed to have arrived a bit later than everyone else, as the tunnel they approached was empty, providing a fleeting glimpse of gravel and verdant turf on the other side.

The attendant, a young wizard with oily black hair and a little goatee, looked up as they got closer, and his eyes lit up at the sight of Fleur. He hurried forward, adopting a most sycophantic air, and began to wring her hand excitedly. He gabbled something in French, Fleur gabbled back, and he henceforth began to speak in English.

"Of course, Mademoiselle Delacour. Ah, enchanté, enchanté, eet is an 'onour."

"Excuse me," Fleur began, sounding rather annoyed, "but 'ave we met?"

"No, no, but I know you, Mademoiselle. Ze famous champion of Beauxbatons? I followed ze Triwizard Tournament very closely, you know...huge admirer..."

Fleur looked even more annoyed as he spoke, and Bill's hackles seemed to be rising. Harry was very thankful – on the attendant's behalf – that Bill wasn't a fully-grown werewolf.

"Well, if you _really _followed eet, you would be paying far more attention to ze champion" – Fleur nodded at Harry – "zan ze girl who came last."

The attendant looked at Harry as if he was an unwelcome complication, and muttered something about it being a "fabulous honour", sounding totally unconvincing.

"And it's Madame Weasley now," Fleur added, putting an arm around Bill's waist. He put his own arm around her shoulders, and glared daggers at the man. The attendant took one look at scarred, wolfish Bill, and seemed to abandon his efforts altogether.

"Eet all seems to be in order," he mumbled, waving his wand over Fleur's tickets – a red wax seal clamped to the end of each one, and he motioned for them to go through. Barely looking at the man, and keeping a firm grip on Bill as if to prove a point, Fleur walked past him, closely followed by the rest of the party.

The stadium looked deceptively like a full building from the inside, but the four walls were just walls – the space in the middle was hollow, containing the pitch, and encircled by the four huge, stone stands. They climbed a staircase leading off from the tunnel, and followed Fleur, who began glancing at the tickets and winding her way through row after row to find theirs, until, finally, they reached one of the front rows, much to Harry's pleasure, where ten seats stood conspicuously empty.

Sitting down between Ron and Ginny, Harry began to look at the pitch itself. There were two huge tunnels at either end, far larger than the one they had come through, which he assumed allowed the teams to fly onto the pitch. The pitch itself was a huge lawn, bordered by a few feet of gravel on every side. Harry leaned forward, and stared in surprise. On closer inspection, it was less like a lawn, and more like a _garden_. Neat box hedges formed a low maze, which twisted and turned across the entire pitch, and while they looked amazing, they were certainly a deviation from the usual, neatly-mown turf of most pitches.

The hands of his watch were rapidly approaching five o'clock, as the commentator began to ramble – in French. Harry wasn't worried about that; if anything really important was said, Fleur could translate. As he sat and listened, not understanding a word, Hermione began to hand out various items from the all too familiar beaded bag. After a minute or two, they all had a pair of Omnioculars, and were bedecked in powder-blue scarves. The Weasleys had agreed to support France against The Nordic Team, on the mutual agreement that Fleur supported England against Spain, and the not-so-mutual agreement that if France and England met, she would be completely outnumbered and ganged up on.

"I still don't get it," Hermione whispered, as Harry and Ron both leant in to listen, "what _is _The Nordic Team?"

"I told you already," Ron sighed, as it struck Harry that Quidditch was the only subject he knew more about than Hermione, "The Nordic Team's made up of all the Scandinavian countries – Sweden, Norway, Denmark, and Finland, although there hasn't been a Finnish player in it for about twelve years."

"But why don't they just have their own teams?" Hermione said, and Ron shrugged.

"Dunno, it's just tradition. Maybe they don't have enough players on their own, or maybe they just wanted to have one big team. Everyone else just goes along with it."

That seemed to be enough answer for Hermione, as she fell silent again, and they all looked out over the pitch again, nervously awaiting the start of the match. Finally, there was another gabble of French from the commentary box, and Fleur said "Here they come!"

The French team were the first to enter the arena, to a round of tumultuous cheers from the home crowd. They soared into the air in unison, all clad in flowing, powder-blue robes. The first thing Harry noticed was that most of the team were women, something he knew both Fleur and Ginny approved of (after all, Ginny's favourite team was the all-female Holyhead Harpies). Only the Keeper and one of the Beaters were male. As the French team assembled, Harry started with surprise, as did several people around him, including Ron, Hermione and Ginny. The hedges, which had previously formed an incomprehensible maze, were now twisting and twirling at the far end of the pitch. At last, they fell still, and a giant crest was visible in the masses of greenery, a shield, on which stood a winged horse.

Before Harry could ask Fleur if that was the French team's crest, the Nordic team burst out from the near side of the stadium, beneath Harry's feet. The first impression he got was that the Nordic team reminded him of the Durmstrang students arriving for the Triwizard Tournament. Despite the French summer heat, they emerged onto the field in olive green robes that were hooded and fur-lined. Seemingly unconcerned with their heavy attire, the Scandinavians flew up into the air with just as much enthusiasm as the French, even if they did get slightly less applause from the mostly French crowd. At their end, Harry could make out a second crest, showing a bear rearing onto its hind legs.

While the commentator jabbered on in unintelligible French, Fleur quickly translated the names, as the referee, an Italian by the name of Idris, emerged, holding the Quaffle. The French Keeper and one of the Nordic Chasers flew to the centre, shook hands, then returned to position, as the referee signalled to two men down below, who were holding shut the case containing the Bludgers and Snitch. Fleur was still translating as the referee flew upwards a few feet, and tossed the Quaffle high into the air.

"Zey're off!"


	23. Chapter 23: France vs The Nordic Team

**Chapter 23 - France vs The Nordic Team**

Almost instantly, six blurs (three green, three blue) shot towards the red Quaffle, which looked extremely small amidst the frenzy. The Beaters and Seekers took off in various directions, as the scramble for the Quaffle drew all eyes to the centre of the field. Finally, the Nordic captain, a man with spiky blond hair and glasses, grabbed the crimson ball in one hand and took off up the bitch, flanked by his two fellow Chasers, and harangued by two of their French counterparts.

Harry had forgotten just how good top-flight Quidditch could be – the Nordic Chasers were almost unstoppable as they ploughed up the pitch, and Harry quickly flicked through the program Hermione had handed him, putting names to faces so he could follow the action and the commentary. In thirty seconds, the Nordic captain, Andersen, was threatening the French goalmouth – he was only stopped when the male French Beater, Lacroix, sent a Bludger his way. It hit him squarely in the side; he dropped the Quaffle, and the French Keeper, Bastien, grabbed it and hurled it up the field.

As the French began their counterattack, Harry watched the two Seekers. Both were women, and both were circling the upper areas of the pitch. He glanced at his program again, and at the list of players. The French Seeker was Peltier, he tried to remember, and the Nordic Seeker was Lundstrom.

He had been so focused on the two Seekers that he didn't notice the French Chasers working their way up the field. At last, they reached the Nordic goal, the lead Chaser avoided a Bludger with a balletic twirl, and threw the Quaffle to one of her team-mates, who gracefully swung it through the far goal hoop, past the Keeper's outstretched hands.

Harry could certainly see what Fleur had meant when, on several occasions, she had called the French Chasers "dancers". Their flying style was like nothing he had ever seen, incorporating all sorts of twists, rolls and turns that allowed the three women to constantly confound the Nordic Beaters, who seemed unable to land a hit on them.

The Nordic Chasers, however, were having no such trouble. They had far more brute strength than the three French maidens, but they also appeared to have more skill. They scored almost every time they reached the French goals, and the Keeper, Bastien, had no defence against the myriad of tricks they pulled out – on one occasion, Andersen swung down towards the hoops, tossed the ball to Gustafson, who kicked it back to him, and the crowd watched as Andersen dropped sideways off his broom. Dangling in midair, he pulled it back and swung it at the Quaffle, smashing it through the right-hand hoop with the tail end of his broomstick.

The scoring was relentless from the Nordic team, one goal after another, as the French struggled to get past the huge Nordic Keeper, Martin Helstrom (who, according to the program, was nicknamed "Tiny"). Andersen scored, then again, then set up Gustafson for a goal of her own. The French broke the chain as Marat tossed a shot past Helstrom, and then it was Anderson again, Hansen, Andersen, then Andersen _yet again_.

Half an hour into the game, the score stood at ninety points to twenty in The Nordic Team's favour, and six of their nine goals had been scored by Andersen – the captain was on incredible form, so incredible that Harry and Ron both forgot they were meant to be supporting France, and merely gawped as he scored again, this time knocking Bastien through his own hoops with the sheer force of his shot.

The French were awarded a penalty after Hansen nearly smashed Mallard from her broom, and Marat sunk it into the left-hand hoop to bring the score back to one hundred – thirty, but the French were struggling badly. Helstrom hurled the ball back to Andersen, and he set off up the field once more.

What happened next came quite suddenly. The French team (and everyone else in the stadium) knew that Andersen was the key figure for the Nordic offence, and the two French Beaters had made multiple attempts to stop him, as their Keeper was failing to do so. Now both Beaters, Lacroix and Saucet, bore down on him. Lacroix had his eye on an approaching Bludger, and Saucet was juggling the other with little taps of her bat. In perfect unison, they sent both Bludgers hurtling at Andersen from either side.

No-one quite registered, at first, that three objects had flown at Andersen, not two. As she swung, Saucet's bat had "slipped" – Andersen narrowly dodged her Bludger, only to be hit in the stomach by Lacroix's, and then smashed in the back of the head by her bat. He went limp, slumped sideways, and fell from his broom, as the Nordic end of the stands erupted into shrieks of dismay and angry boos. One angry spectator even hurled a hex at Saucet, nearly throwing her off her broom, before two officials grabbed the offender and disarmed him.

The roars of anger and horror still continued, however, and Harry couldn't help agreeing with the Scandinavians. It was a blatant foul from Saucet, but what was worse was the fall. Andersen had fallen nearly fifty feet from his broom – Harry had taken the same fall in his second year and ended up in the hospital wing, without the added injury of a bat to the back of the skull.

As mediwizards rushed in to try and help Andersen, there were signs that a fight was about to start in the air. With both teams watching on to see if Andersen would continue, the Nordic Beater Pettersson sent a Bludger flying at Saucet, narrowly missing her head, as he flew at her. The French Beater, Lacroix, flew into the way at the last moment, forcing Pettersson to stop in his attempts to reach her, but instead causing an impromptu grapple to break out between the two men, Beaters' bats flying as the crazed Nordic Beater tried to reach Saucet, and the Frenchman tried to stop him. Eventually, the gigantic Nordic Keeper Helstrom flew over from the goalposts and pulled them apart, dragging Pettersson away but giving Lacroix an elbow in the ribs for good measure.

Finally, the mediwizards reached Andersen, but there were no signs of him returning to the air. His broom was brought down to the ground by the referee as he was stretchered off, and while the Italian was absent, Pettersson made another attack, giving Lacroix a black eye before his teammates once again dragged him away.

The game resumed without Andersen, but it seemed a foregone conclusion now. Three Chasers would always outnumber two, and the French racked up goal after goal, so the only way the Nordic team could hope to win now was by catching the Snitch.

Despite the incident with Andersen, Harry's sympathy began to move very definitely away from the Scandinavians. With the game out of their hands, everyone except the Seeker and Keeper resorted to sheer violence as a means of revenge, and they showed no hesitation in battering the much smaller, female French Chasers, too. They gave away foul after foul for cobbing, blagging and blatching (or, in layman's terms, roughing up the French team as much as possible), until they got their vengeance, as the Nordic Beater Knutsen flew straight at Saucet, and the two women collided, sending Saucet spiralling down into the stands.

They didn't relent, however; if anything, the Nordic players got more violent, and the match was quickly becoming one of the dirtiest Harry had ever seen, more like a fight on broomsticks than a game of Quidditch. The only Nordic players not getting involved were Lundstrom, the Seeker, who was soaring over their heads, looking for the Snitch, and the massive Keeper Martin Helstrom, who actually charged down his own Chaser, Hansen, and smacked him over the head for trying to pull Marat off her broom.

The score rose, one hundred and fifty to one hundred and twenty in France's favour, as a couple of consolation goals from Gustafson were shrugged off by the French Chasers – despite the attacks being directed at them, they rose to the occasion, ducking and weaving around attempted tackles and dancing past Helstrom, who seemed distracted and unfocused in his anger. With the big Keeper finally unsettled (by his own team more than the French), they were slipping goals in left, right and centre.

Over the next twenty minutes, the score rose to two-twenty – one-fifty to France, before the stands (which had been filled with incessant arguing, cheering or booing) fell silent, and all eyes turned to the two Seekers. Tina Lundstrom, the Nordic Seeker, had rolled in midair and was diving towards the near end of the stadium. Harry, however, had spotted a very basic mistake, and he suspected Charlie and Ginny would notice too – Lundstrom was so desperate to get the Snitch and win the game back before her team was out of reach that she had made no effort to conceal her movements. As she rocketed across the stadium, her French counterpart, Cybéle Peltier, was a hundred metres or so closer to the Snitch. She followed Lundstrom's gaze, spotted the Snitch herself, and then darted down after it.

Even as she tried to catch Peltier, the Nordic Seeker seemed to realise her mistake. Peltier was closer by a huge distance, and despite a hasty Nordic Bludger, which missed her by inches, she shot past the Nordic goal hoops, grabbed the Snitch in one hand and rose, just feet from the stand Harry occupied, with the little silver wings fluttering forlornly in her fist.

The French end exploded into cheers and applause, while the Nordic team seemed split emotionally. Tina Lundstrom flew up to her French rival and shook her hand – looking very annoyed with herself for giving away the catch, she retreated towards the ground, joined by big Martin Helstrom, who put a massive arm around her in what was evidently meant to be a comforting embrace. The other Nordic players were glowering at the French team, and seemed to be considering another attack, but a threatening glare from Helstrom quelled these thoughts, and they headed reluctantly for the ground, as the rest of the French team finally reached Peltier, pulling her into a huge group hug.

"We should go," Fleur muttered, and Harry could see her point immediately. The Nordic end had been sitting in stunned silence, but now erupted into a chorus of boos, and yells of "cheaters", among other, rather more obscene names.

As the Weasley party began to descend the stairs, they heard a loud yell, and Harry turned to see the referee narrowly dodge another hex from one of the Nordic fans.

"Well..." Mr Weasley sighed. "That was... interesting."

"Interesting?" Ron replied. "That was the dirtiest game I've ever seen!"

"Oui," Fleur said, nodding in agreement, "ze foul on Andersen was 'orrible, but the Nordic Team did far worse afterwards..."

As they reached the bottom of the stairs and began to file out through the tunnel, Charlie chuckled.

"Did you see Lacroix? Cheering away with a great big black eye where Pettersson smacked him," he roared, and everyone began to cheer up slightly. The game had been dirty, but it was definitely _memorable_.

"And Helstrom!" Bill exclaimed, "Bloody hell, he did more damage to his own players than the French!"

"I'll bet he was really angry," Ron said, sagely, "it isn't good for a Keeper when his team keeps giving away penalties..."

"I just 'ope ze final is a little less violent," Fleur added – she seemed happy that her team had won, but dismayed at the manner in which they'd done it.

"Against Spain?" Charlie laughed, "Are you kidding?"

"I was 'oping for England, myself," she smirked, "zey are a little less..."

"Violent?"

"Good."

"Charming..." Charlie huffed.

As the cheery party passed through the village, it was almost deserted – everyone was still in the stadium, or else listening to the results on the wireless. They saw no-one else on the streets, but by the time they reached the mansion once more, word of the results had gotten out, as had a few hundred exuberant French fans – the little village and the huge campsite beside it were filled with the noise of jolly revellers.

Harry's head was filled with an innate buzz which he remembered all too keenly from his time at Hogwarts – anticipation, exhilaration... The match today had been all well and good – it had whetted his appetite, certainly – but in two days time he would be seeing the _final_, and that thought set his pulse racing...


	24. Chapter 24: Doubts and Dragons

**Chapter 24 - Doubts and Dragons**

The Weasley party had spent the rest of the evening after the French match at the mansion, chatting about the match and drinking bottles of butterbeer or firewhiskey. They were merry, despite the controversial events of the day, because they, like Harry, were thrilled at the prospect of the final. By the time they all retired to bed, they were happy, contented, and very, very excited.

Harry and Ginny descended to the kitchen at mid-morning the next day, to find most of the party already assembled, looking sleepy and slightly grim. Bill had an English copy of the World Cup newspaper, and gave them a brief run-down of the latest happenings. Olaf Andersen's broken bones had been healed by the mediwizards, but he was still in a rough state, and had delayed returning home until he was fully recovered. Saucet, the French Beater who had hospitalised him, had been dropped from the team and sent home in shame (but not before a group of Nordic fans hexed her, causing her to unceremoniously sprout antlers). She had been replaced by one of the reserve Beaters, Griffon, who had the unenviable task of training herself to World Cup Final standard in just a day.

The final piece of news, and one that made Ginny curse loudly, was that England had lost their match to Spain, by virtue of an early Snitch catch that left the score at one hundred and ninety to sixty. Charlie seemed melancholy, but not surprised. As he put it:

"They've only had a week or two to train, and the captain's been on the run from the Ministry for months. They were lucky to make it this far..."

That left the final as France versus Spain, and left the Weasleys firmly on France's side.

After a late breakfast, they set about deciding how they would fill the rest of the day. Fleur, Audrey and Hermione decided on a shopping trip to Bordeaux, and Mr Weasley decided to go with them, to see if Muggles in France were any different to those back home.

"At least if he asks anyone about 'eckeltricity' they'll just think he's another idiot tourist," Ginny muttered darkly – she had refused the offer of a shopping trip with a fair amount of disgust.

Percy disappeared into the village to exchange money, leaving Bill, Charlie, Ginny, Ron and Harry to occupy their time. Before Harry could make any suggestions, however, Bill asked to have a private word with Ginny, and pulled her down a side corridor, out of sight. Ron and Harry both looked at Charlie, as a very curious expression played over his features. He was clearly considering mentioning something, but at the same time trying to stop himself saying it. Eventually, however, he lost his mental battle, and ushered the other two boys into the kitchen, closing the door carefully behind them.

"Listen," he said, with an enigmatic smile, "before you two go off and become Aurors, you're free, right? No jobs or anything?"

Part of Harry wanted to mention the plot to "fix" George, but as he barely knew any of the details, or how much Charlie knew of the plan, he stayed silent.

"It's just, I was speaking to Kelly... the other dragon keeper," he added, for Harry's benefit (Ron still remembered Charlie's "colleague" from the other night). "And we need a favour..."

"Doing a favour for _you_?" Ron said, sceptically, "That can't be anything good."

"Oh, lighten up, baby brother, this is _tame _by my standards. There's good money in it, too... we just need a couple of stunners."

"Stunners?" Ron said, bemused, but Harry knew instantly what Charlie meant. He remembered seeing the dragons in his fourth year, and how Charlie's team of dragon keepers had suppressed them with combined stunning spells...

"This is going to involve dragons, isn't it?" Harry said quietly, and Charlie smiled, as if proud of him for working it out.

"Harry, almost _everything_ I do involves dragons. But yes, you're right. I'm off work, but I agreed to help out with this job, and see if I could get a couple of extra hands on board for it. The team in Romania's taking delivery of an Ambereye."

"A what?" Ron said.

"An American Ambereye... one of them ran amok in Nevada, nearly flattened a trailer park. It's all been taken care of, no-one died, and all the Muggles' memories have been wiped, but there's still the matter of what to do with the dragon. Rather than kill it, one of the Yanks on our team offered to ship it out to Romania and keep it on the reserve. The only problem is flying it over here."

"You want us to fly a dragon to Romania?" Ron interrupted, his eyes bulging.

"No, no, not fly it over. My team's doing that, but they can't do it in one go. It was bad enough taking Norberta from Hogwarts to Romania, but crossing the Atlantic with a fully-grown one and _then _flying across Europe too? They'd never manage it. What we do in cases like that is use other reserves as a sort of rest stop."

"How many other reserves are there?" Harry blurted out, before his patience could rein his curiosity in.

"A fair few," Charlie replied. "Most countries have at least one. There're two in Britain – one in Wales, and one up in the Hebrides, keeping the Welsh Green and the Hebridean Black respectively. Most reserves just preserve one species, but some, like ours, just take anything they can get."

Charlie chuckled at this thought, then continued.

"My team's going to bring the dragon down to the Welsh reserve and get some rest. They just need a few extra people to watch it while they're not around, in case it tries to get loose."

"Don't you need to be qualified to do that?" Ron said, still sounding very suspicious.

"What, to use a stunning spell?" Charlie scoffed. "You need to be qualified to _keep _dragons, but you're with me, and after everything you've done, firing a few stunning spells every hour isn't exactly the biggest challenge of your lives..."

"I'm in," Harry said, almost before he'd made his mind up. It sounded sort of fun, guarding a dragon, and he was eager for any prospect of getting away from the norm – be it Hogwarts or the Burrow.

"Mum's going to kill us if she finds out," Ron began, "but what the hell, I'll do it."

"Brilliant, knew I could count on you two. I'll tell you more once we've set a date, and I'll try and get Bill on board too," Charlie said, grinning with an odd composite of excitement, pleasure and pride.

* * *

><p>Elsewhere, Ginny had been led to what appeared to be a small study by Bill. He had ushered her inside, and they had both drawn up large, high-backed armchairs, sitting opposite each other. There was an awkward silence, before Bill finally broached his thoughts.<p>

"How are things going with Harry?" he said, cautiously. Ginny knew why he sounded nervous – her temper was almost as feared as her mother's.

"Fine," she muttered.

"Oh come on, Gin, you'll have to give me a bit more than 'fine'," Bill retorted, still looking at her with a careful, measuring gaze.

"Why? What do you think could be wrong?" Ginny snapped back, finding herself a bit angrier than she'd expected. Whatever Bill was getting at, she wasn't sure she liked it.

"Well, we all know Harry can be a bit...impulsive..." Bill began. Ginny glared at him, but he looked back, looking determinedly unafraid.

"_Impulsive?_ What, you think he's just going to break up with me on a whim?"

"He did it once before," Bill said, simply.

The statement was rather disarming. Bill's face gave away no hint of expression, as all the anger in Ginny faded to simple astonishment, and she gawped aimlessly at him for a few seconds.

"How... how did you...?" she spluttered, and a sly smile flickered across her brother's face.

"You really thought I wouldn't work it out? You've been nuts about him ever since you met him, Gin. Besides, Hermione let it slip," Bill said calmly, and Ginny made a mental note to kill Hermione when she next saw her.

"Why would she tell you about _that_?"

"She didn't, not directly. Ron was getting really angry about Harry 'messing you about', and she came to talk to me about it in the summer, before the wedding. I guess she thought I was the only one of his brothers who wouldn't take the piss. But telling me meant admitting that you and Harry had been dating. In hindsight, you were upset for weeks after Dumbledore's funeral, so I put two and two together, and... well, looks like I was right, wasn't I?"

"I guess you were..." Ginny murmured, quietly. She'd thought her relationship with Harry had gone unnoticed by all of her family except Ron. Quite suddenly, another worry popped into her head. "Did you tell anyone?"

"Only Fleur," Bill said, reassuringly. "We both know Charlie and the twins aren't exactly _subtle_. But, back to my question... is everything alright?"

"Yes," Ginny said, finding herself possessed with a strange determination as she spoke. "Like you said, we both know what Harry's like – he's too noble for his own good. He only broke up with me so I wouldn't be a target."

"Like Sirius," Bill muttered quietly, and Ginny was struck with a new appreciation for Harry's worries all those months ago. Anyone close to Harry had been used as a means to get to him, or had died protecting him. His parents, Sirius, Dumbledore... even Ginny herself – she had been dragged down to the Chamber of Secrets as bait, to lure him in. Quite suddenly, she understood why Harry had acted as he did, and the last scar in her love for him seemed to heal.

"I've spent seven years waiting for Harry," she said, very clearly, as she tried to stop her voice breaking. "He's worth every second..."

Bill smiled, as if that was exactly what he had wanted to hear all along. It struck her, more than ever, that Bill had a knack for talking to her, even about the most personal things. She had always been closest to the twins at Hogwarts, but in her childhood, it was Bill, her revered big brother, who she held in the highest esteem. She never seemed to have a problem confiding in him, and she suspected it was the same for Ron, perhaps Charlie too. Even Hermione, who had barely known him at the time, had apparently had no problem talking to him about her thoughts and feelings for Ron, something she had rarely even admitted to Harry, at the time...

"Sorry if I made you angry, Gin..." he murmured, "but I had to check. You're my little sister – Chosen One or not, he still has to be good enough for you."

Bill was grinning, and Ginny couldn't help breaking into a shy smile too. They both stood up, and without really meaning to, she pulled her brother into a crushing hug. For a minute or so, he just hugged her in return, and she was back in her childhood, with her big brother's reassuring arms around her, every time she got hurt or upset...

So much had changed over the last year; it was nice to have some reminder of a more innocent time, those golden days where everybody _lived_...


	25. Chapter 25: France vs Spain

**A/N: Thanks for the reviews, everyone, and apologies to anyone who finds Quidditch scenes tedious - this is the last one for the time being, honest.**

**Chapter 25 - France vs Spain**

All too quickly, the last day of their trip had come, and the Weasleys, along with their various guests, were getting ready to leave for the final. Despite their reluctance to end the holiday, everyone was hugely excited about the coming match. By the time they reached the stadium, they knew everyone else in the camp and the nearby village was, too.

Spectators were rushing in to take their seats, and there was barely a minute to kick-off as the Weasleys took their seats, once again on the front row, in the French stands. Unlike last time, everyone in the Weasley party was fully bedecked in fan gear. Everyone had a scarf in the French colours draped around their necks, Fleur was wearing a short, powder blue dress that had drawn more than a few stares from passers-by (each of which had been met by a glare from Bill), and Charlie had a large top hat in the same colour jammed onto his head – much to his annoyance, he was forced to take it off once they took their seats, because nobody for three rows behind him could see the pitch. Less than a minute after Harry sat down, he was watching the teams emerge.

The French team was a familiar sight – seven players in blue who shot out of the far tunnel, waving to the home crowd in the stands as they soared around in circles. Harry noticed the new Beater, Griffon, looking unmistakeably nervous behind her exhilarated smile, as the French team assembled by the hoops at the far end of the pitch.

From beneath them, the Spanish team emerged, and Harry's first impression was of a troupe of matadors. Where the French were clad in subtle, pale blue, the seven Spanish players were wearing golden yellow robes, with bright red trousers. They flew to the Spanish end of the stadium, punching the air and cheering, then circled around and came to hover on the near side, fifty metres or so from Harry.

While Harry checked the hedge maze on the floor once more – seeing the familiar French crest and its winged horse, as well as the Spanish crest, resplendent with a charging bull – the referee emerged, a dark-skinned American who the commentator announced as "Marshall". He flew to the centre, Quaffle in hand, and the French Keeper Bastien once more flew down to meet him, this time joined by one of the Spanish Beaters, who was named as Vasco Santini in Harry's brochure. The referee gave a quick nod to each captain, the commentator gabbled something in rapid French, the Chasers assembled, and then the Quaffle was hurled high into the air, to a roar from all corners of the stadium.

There was a flurry of activity in the centre of the pitch, and every time Harry saw someone get their hands on the Quaffle, he would hurriedly check his brochure to find out who it was. Finally, Santini sent a Bludger hurtling into the midst of the tussle, the Quaffle dropped, and Garcia, one of the Spanish Chasers, dived after it, grabbing the scarlet ball and streaking off up the pitch. Moments later, she had ducked a tentatively-hit Bludger from the new French Beater, Griffon, but was delayed long enough to be tackled by Marat, one of the French Chasers. Marat in turn got half way to the Spanish hoops, on the near side of the stadium, before she was intercepted and also knocked off her broom by Cartaya – the Spaniard grabbed the Quaffle herself, then shot back off in the other direction.

This exchange continued for quite some time – one team would get the Quaffle, get almost to the opposition's goal hoops, and then be tackled or robbed of possession in some way. The first shot at goal came when Marat broke away, headed for the Spanish hoops, ducked an attempted tackle by Garcia, and bounced a shot through the left-hand hoops, to a cry of delight from the French fans, the Weasleys and Harry included.

The next goal came from Spain – the Keeper, Felino, tossed the Quaffle out to his Chasers once the French euphoria had died down, and they set off up the pitch in a staggered line. Garcia led the way, passing the ball back to Lébron as Marat and Mallard dove at her. Lébron ducked a slightly under-powered Bludger from Griffon, feinted right, and then hurled the ball left past Lafarge into empty space. Cartaya shot out into open air, snatched the Quaffle in one hand, and was away, quicker than any of the French Chasers could catch her. Before the French fans had even finished celebrating their first goal, Cartaya had slammed an equaliser past Bastien, and it was the Spanish end's turn to fill with noise.

Harry had to admit, this game far surpassed the France-Nordic Team match as an example of Quidditch at its finest. That match had been made incredible by Andersen's domination, whereas this one was incredible for the sheer closeness of the score. Both teams played brilliantly, and in very similar styles, with Chasers ducking and weaving around tackles rather than ploughing head-first into them like some teams did.

Half an hour in, the score was fourty-thirty to Spain, as Josephine Marat narrowly missed a shot at the Spanish goals. Quite suddenly, the stadium fell into a deathly hush, as two blurs shot downwards towards the near end of the pitch, one yellow, one blue. The two Seekers had spotted the Snitch, and were haring towards it. Harry saw the Spanish Seeker, Marrero, kick out – he was much bigger than the French Seeker, Peltier, and she was forced to veer away to avoid being knocked off her broom. Marrero was reaching for the Snitch, he was metres away, and then –

_WHAM!_

Both ends gasped with surprise as a Bludger arced down and smashed into Marrero's shoulder. The new French Beater, Griffon, seemed to have found a reserve of thus-far untapped strength, and she had smashed the Bludger with such force that it ricocheted off the Spanish Seeker and hit the stone wall. As the hissing black ball dislodged itself, it left behind a sizeable crater in the sandstone, and sent a flurry of stone chips and powder dust falling to the turf below.

Marrero had dropped like a stone and lost all hope of catching the Snitch. He climbed back up to game level and rejoined the match, but Harry noticed him clutching his shoulder every minute or so, and it rested at an odd angle – Harry was sure the Spaniard's collarbone had been broken.

The French fans' relief was momentarily broken as Cartaya and Garcia each put away a goal, bringing the score to sixty-thirty, but after Cartaya was hit in the back by a Bludger from Lacroix, the French team responded, with Lafarge putting away two goals as repayment.

Over an hour later, the two teams were still going. At any other match, a fan or two might have started drifting out to get lunch, but this was the _World Cup Final_. No-one dared leave and risk missing the ending. The scores had risen to one hundred apiece, and Harry was watching another exchange between the Chasers, as the commentator listed off a steady procession of names, interspersed with rapid French.

"Marat... Mallard... Lafarge... Mallard – Garcia... Cartaya – Lafarge, Marat, Lafarge, Marat!"

The French Chaser swung upwards, ducked past the Spanish Keeper, and hurled the ball over his head. It soared in a wide arc and fell through the farthest hoop, bouncing off the bottom of the rim as it did with a resounding, gong-like noise.

The French end was far less enthusiastic about this goal than it was the first – the players had yet to tire, but the fans simply didn't have the energy to applaud every goal as they had at the start. Then, the familiar hush fell again, and Harry's eyes flickered between the two Seekers. Peltier was still hovering over the top layers of play, but Marrero was once more diving towards the Snitch, near the Spanish end. Peltier only set off after him when Lacroix flew past her, pointing panic-stricken at the Spanish Seeker. Luckily, she was closer to the Snitch than he was – although she hadn't quite spotted it herself, she was able to get in between Marrero and his destination, with painful consequences.

Harry winced as the two collided – Peltier, despite her desperate lunge, appeared to have come away unscathed. Marrero, however, looked to be in worse shape than ever. If his collarbone hadn't been broken before, it certainly was now – his shoulder slumped down at a lopsided angle, and his teeth were gritted with pain as he passed the French stands where Harry sat. Finally, he admitted his predicament and flew down to the ground, dismounting his broom as a trio of mediwizards rushed over.

The mediwizards cast a quick spell on Marrero – predictably, Hermione recognised it on sight as a pain relief charm – but he refused to leave the game to have his bones fixed, and soared back into the air to rejoin the match.

"Garcia... Cartaya... Lébron," the commentator shouted, as the three Spanish Chasers shot up the field, and sunk the Quaffle into the centre hoop. Harry, however, was watching the two Seekers circle high above – privately, he was hoping the game would end soon, and not drag on much longer.

True to his secret hopes, it took just a few minutes for the Seekers to find the Snitch again, and make a third attempt to end the already long-winded game. Just as the commentator announced another Spanish goal, and the scoreboard flickered to "110-130", Peltier dived from one side of the pitch, Marrero from the other, both heading for the centre. They swerved to one side, and everyone seemed to think they'd chickened out, but Harry's eyes could just see the glimmer of gold ahead of them, as they reached the edge of the stadium, turned left again, and shot off along the outer wall.

The chase seemed to be obvious to everyone now, and a goal from Lébron was utterly ignored by everyone except the enchanted scoreboard – even the commentator was too busy watching the Seekers to announce it.

Harry stood up to watch the two fliers as they came closer – in the corners of his vision, he saw Ginny and Ron rise on either side of him, as everyone craned over the stone barrier to get a better view. The two players shot past, a few metres below, as the little golden Snitch tried its damnedest to evade them. They passed back towards the Spanish stands, then looped around the pitch once more, as every eye in the stadium tried to follow them, and another goal apiece for the two teams' Chasers were ignored.

As they passed the French goal hoops for the second time, the Snitch darted inwards and made its way across the middle of the pitch. Both Seekers swerved after it, darting between the huge posts and heading for the Spanish hoops, behind which Harry and the other French supporters were sat. Peltier and Marrero were flying just a few feet above the hedge tops, ignoring the Quaffle being passed over their heads, and Carmen Garcia swinging upwards to avoid them.

When the two Seekers were half way across the pitch, with Peltier slightly in the lead, all eyes suddenly fixed on another golden-robed figure swooping down towards them. Tiago Montoya, one of the Spanish Beaters, was racing down towards them, eyes focused on a Bludger just above their heads. He pulled his arm back and made a monumental swing at the little black bullet. He seemed to overbalance slightly, but managed to send the Bludger hurtling at Cybéle Peltier.

The next few moments seemed to pass in slow motion, and everyone in the stadium held their breath. Peltier glanced up from the Snitch, her eyes widened, and she pressed her body as flat as she could against the handle of her broom. She dropped a few inches, the tips of her toes scraping across the top of the hedge maze, as the Bludger soared at her. It missed her head by a fraction of an inch, shot past, and slammed straight into Inigo Marrero.

The Spanish fans released their held breaths in a roar of anger and dismay, as Marrero recoiled, and his already-broken collarbone was pulverised by the speeding Bludger. He roared, toppled backwards off his broom, and smashed through one of the low hedges before rolling to a stop on the turf.

Mediwizards were rushing into the maze just as they had done for Olaf Andersen two days before, but now all eyes were on Cybéle Peltier. Despite almost crashing her broom to avoid the Bludger, she had managed to keep her eyes firmly on the Snitch – it veered upwards, and she followed, putting on a burst of speed as they rocketed towards the Spanish hoops. The Keeper, Felino, was guarding the left hoop as Peltier sped towards the right, and he seemed to be considering blocking her – either way, he didn't make up his mind in time. Before he had chance to shoot across and get in her way, the French Seeker had reached the goal.

The Snitch shot through the hoop in a golden blur. Peltier followed in a much bigger blue blur. As she did, Harry saw her drop sideways off her broom, hanging on with only one arm and one leg as she reached down – it was just a few inches away, just one inch, just a fraction of an inch now...

She made a wild grab with her right hand, Harry saw her pale fist clench around the golden orb, and the French fans exploded into raucous cheers, drowning out the lingering Spanish howls.

Everyone was on their feet now, and the sheer wall of noise seemed more likely to knock Peltier from her broom than any Bludger. So caught up were they in the celebrations, the Weasleys and their guests had forgotten that they weren't _actually _French – with the exception of Fleur, of course. Indeed, Fleur screamed the loudest of them all, and pulled Bill into a huge kiss that drew incredulous stares from the surrounding French fans. Before Harry quite knew what was happening, Ginny had embraced him in a crushing hug, as Hermione and Ron did the same, everyone still dancing up and down – more to avoid insulting the French fans than anything else.

Peltier had only had a few moments of jubilance to herself before her teammates caught up to her. The three Chasers were first to reach her, closely followed by the young reserve Beater Griffon, who seemed to be utterly shocked at winning, and was grinning broadly. The two big men of the team, the Beater Lacroix and the Keeper Bastien, clapped each other on the back, then joined the group hug. The French team whirled around in a collective mass of limbs and blue robes, until they finally released each other, and headed for the large stone platform that served as the commentary stand.

The Spanish team and fans were the picture of dismay. Santini, the captain, was sporting enough to swoop down and offer his congratulations, shaking hands with Bastien, and the victorious Peltier. Garcia and Lébron followed suit, clapping the French Chasers on the back and hiding their disappointment. Harry also assumed they were hiding their worry – Cartaya and Felino were both on the ground, clustered around Marrero with the mediwizards, as Tiago Montoya headed for the changing rooms, throwing down his Beater's bat in shame.

From the far end of the stadium, Harry could only just see the French team swoop towards the commentary stand, landing one by one. Once they were all assembled, the Quidditch World Cup surfaced, in the hands of the commentator – a black-robed wizard who must have been of some importance to be offered the role – and was handed to the Keeper, Bastien, while the French fans continued to roar and clap, as did some of the more fair-minded Spanish fans. Bastien held the trophy aloft, and Harry could just about see the ornate golden affair as it was handed around to each of the Chasers, to the two Beaters, and finally to Cybéle Peltier. As she took it, Lacroix and Bastien ambushed her, hauling her up onto their shoulders with the cup still held tightly in her hands.

Harry took another look at his companions, and laughed as he realised Fleur had only just stopped kissing Bill, who looked rather shell-shocked. Ginny leant over, and whispered in his ear, as the French team took off for a lap of honour, blue smoke trailing out of the end of each of their brooms.

"No Dark Mark this time, hey Harry?" she muttered, smiling. Despite the grimness of those memories, he couldn't help grinning back.


	26. Chapter 26: I Promise

**A/N: VERY short chapter, apologies for that, normal service will be resumed shortly.**

**Chapter 26 - I Promise**

The celebrations went on for hours. The timing of the match meant the fans all spilled out of the stadium and immediately went for a celebratory lunch – Fleur led her party to one of the village inns which she apparently knew well, and they enjoyed a glorious meal, surrounded by happy, raucous Quidditch fans, who would occasionally break into bouts of song – in French.

Finally, though, the time came to leave. The Weasleys had arranged to leave by Portkey in mid-afternoon, and thus, as the French fans filled the village, they were to be found on a small hillock a couple of miles away, clutching a crumpled beer can which glowed an eerie blue colour.

As Mr Weasley checked his watch for the fifth time, Harry felt slightly sad. It wasn't just the World Cup that had made him love the last few days – it was the chance to be in another country with the people he loved most, and to completely forget the various troubles he had back home. Still, reality had to intervene at some point, and there were good things to be going back to as well as bad. Nonetheless, his mind seemed to be forgetting that, and was fixing on George, or Luna and her father, or the troubles Kingsley and his three remaining Aurors were facing.

"Ah, here we go!" Mr Weasley mused cheerfully, interrupting Harry's mental wanderings. He looked down at the battered can, which was glowing more and more fervently, until the familiar hook buried itself behind his navel, tugged, and sent him hurtling across the English Channel.

A few minutes later, they arrived with a jolt on Stoatshead Hill. Harry stayed on his feet for a few seconds, but was brought crashing to the ground as Ginny lost her balance, grabbed his arm, and pulled him down with her.

Once everyone had regained their balance, they grouped behind Mr Weasley, who was looking out in the vague direction of the Burrow. He, like everyone else present, seemed thoroughly unimpressed by the prospect of hiking home.

"I suppose..." he mused, "There will be Muggles about. In the interests of subtlety... yes, I think we should. Pair up, everyone!"

Everyone knew what that meant, and everyone was grateful for it. Harry took Ginny's arm in his, as Bill and Fleur, Percy and Audrey and Ron and Hermione all did the same. Mr Weasley looked at Charlie, and nodded his head in the universal signal for "go on". With a subtle pop, Charlie disappeared. Another nod, this time to Bill, and he and Fleur were gone. Percy followed, soon joined by Ron, with their respective girlfriends in tow. Finally, Mr Weasley nodded to Harry, he whirled on the spot, and he and Ginny were standing in the front yard of the Burrow.

Mr Weasley had barely popped into focus next to them when the front door burst open, and Mrs Weasley came running out, beaming. For a moment, she seemed uncertain as to who she should hug first, before systemically pulling everyone into a rib-crushing embrace, two by two. When she finally reached Harry and Ginny, Harry couldn't help noticing the same sad glint in her eyes he had seen when she volunteered to stay behind – evidently, he assumed, George had yet to come home.

As Mrs Weasley rounded happily on her husband, her children and their various guests trotted indoors, dumping their belongings in bedrooms or the kitchen, and assembled once more in the familiar sitting room. It was a while before anyone noticed the serene figure of Kingsley Shacklebolt. He was pacing in from the garden, resplendent in his usual purple robes. His figure disappeared through the door to the kitchen, and a minute later he stepped into the sitting room with Mr and Mrs Weasley.

"Good holiday?" he said, smiling benignly.

"Very," Ron sighed, speaking for everyone as he sagged down into an armchair. Bill rolled his eyes, but seemed to agree, even if he would have put it a bit more eloquently.

"You all deserve a little time to yourselves," Kingsley mused, then continued, "but I _do _need to speak to Arthur about his position at the Ministry."

Everyone stared at Arthur, who looked slightly startled.

"Me?" he said, weakly.

"Yes, you, Arthur," the ex-Auror said, patiently. "In the wake of all the Ministry's troubles, certain neglected positions have become open... In particular, it seems the Muggle Liaison Office needs a new head..."

Arthur had gone bug-eyed, and Kingsley's smile grew, as did everyone else's.

"Y-you mean?" Arthur stammered, and Kingsley merely nodded. Mr Weasley collapsed into the nearest seat. Kingsley, however, didn't seem to be finished.

"The arrest of Dolores Umbridge also leaves the position of Senior Undersecretary open... Arthur, as a department head, can you think of anyone who might fit the role?"

Kingsley continued to smile kindly at Mr Weasley, whose eyes lit up, as if _this _bit at least had been planned. Slowly, both men turned to look at Percy, who went bright red.

"Me?" he murmured.

"Like father like son..." Molly muttered, shaking her head.

After giving Percy the same speech of confirmation as his father, Kingsley made to leave, but Harry shot a quick glance at Ron, and they rose in unison, catching up to him in the kitchen before he could make it outside. As Harry shut the door behind them, Kingsley turned, still smiling his benign smile, and giving off the unerring impression of knowing exactly why they were there.

"What have we missed?" Harry said. Kingsley simply nodded to the door, and the three men stepped out into the front yard, once more shutting the door behind themselves to keep the conversation from drifting to Mrs Weasley's ears.

"Truthfully?" Kingsley asked.

"Of course. No smiles or lies."

Kingsley sighed, as one would when dropping a persona, although he still sounded serene and calm.

"We're managing, but that's the best I can say. On the one hand, we're making good progress with the Death Eater trials, on the other, we're struggling with attacks..."

"Attacks?" Ron said, sounding worried.

"Nothing on Dolohov's scale, but even so... a wizard and a witch were killed in Godric's Hollow, and the Muggle police have reported another three "unexplained" deaths in London – no marks, no cause of death, we think they were killed by curses."

"You think the Death Eaters were behind it?" Harry muttered, his heart sinking slightly.

"They're unconnected," Kingsley shrugged, "but we have to presume so, just in case..."

Finally, Harry voiced something he had been thinking for the last week, and he suspected Ron had been too.

"We'll start early, at the Auror Office. You need all the help you can get."

"Harry, you shouldn't be so keen to leave your childhood behind. Enjoy it while you can."

"Why should I?" Harry replied, a little louder than he'd intended. He was growing increasingly frustrated by being made to wait. "I've spent most of my childhood avoiding madmen who wanted to kill me! Why break the habit of a lifetime?"

Ron was staring at Harry in amazement, and Kingsley was wearing a rare mask of surprise.

"Harry, mate-" Ron began, but Harry cut him off.

"I want to help! I _don't_ want to be sat around here like a bored little kid while people are dying... again!"

There was another awkward silence, before Kingsley, who was shaking his head pityingly, spoke up at last.

"The life on an Auror is not suited to family, or to love, Harry. Moody and Tonks would both pay testament to that if they could, as would I. You are a remarkable young man, but you have been missing these things for the vast majority of your years. Enjoy them now, before they are lost again."

There was something so grave in Kingsley's tone that Harry was stunned speechless, as was Ron – before Harry could continue with his protests, Kingsley had Disapparated. Reluctantly, he followed Ron back inside, where the rest of the Weasleys were toasting Arthur and Percy. Everyone knew better than to pry, in public at least, so they simply handed glasses to Harry and Ron, held their toast, and drank.

* * *

><p>"So, what did Kingsley have to say?"<p>

Ron sighed. The question had been inevitable, really. He was lying by the stream that ran near to the Burrow, looking up into the starry sky. Hermione was curled up at his side, her head on his chest as if listening to his ever-persisting heartbeat.

"Just what we expected. A few more killings. A few Death Eaters still on the loose. He still wouldn't let us go back early, though, kept insisting we should take the rest of the summer off."

"I'm glad," she purred, draping an arm over his chest, as he wrapped his own hands around her, holding her close. "I'm not sure I like the idea of you running off to hunt down Death Eaters."

"You sound like my mother," Ron muttered. "We spent the last _year _fighting them; you didn't have a problem with it then."

"We didn't have a _choice_. But actually seeking them out, _looking _for a fight... what if you get hurt, Ron?"

Ron was silent. He couldn't answer that. He didn't _want _to answer that.

"I won't," he said, finally.

"Promise?" Hermione replied, sounding for all the world like a little girl again, all full of naivety, innocence and hope, as he looked down at her.

"I promise..."


	27. Chapter 27: Fixing Problems

**Chapter 27 - Fixing Problems**

Ron had awoken in the morning to the odd sensation of dew soaking into his back, as birdsong filled his ears. He and Hermione had fallen asleep by the stream, and remained there all night, undisturbed.

A few days later, however, and he was to be found in Shell Cottage at a horribly early hour, gathered around the kitchen table with Bill, Angelina Johnson, and Lee Jordan, and feeling rather less comfortable and contented than he had on that starry night. While Ron was in France, Angelina in particular had spent days planning George's "therapy", and the plan was now rather radical.

"So we know where he'll be?" Bill was saying, looking cautious.

"Yes," Angelina nodded. "We don't know where he goes in the day, but he comes back to his flat every evening, just after sunset."

"And we have to attack him why, exactly?" Ron muttered.

"We've been over this, Ron. George won't just drink a potion if we hand it to him, and most sleeping draughts don't work if alcohol's added."

"And seeing as he drinks nothing else at the moment, that's a big problem," Bill added.

"Right, right... It still feels kind of wrong, though, attacking my own brother. You realise he'll hate us for doing this?"

"I do," Angelina sighed. "But if it saves him, it's worth it, right?"

No-one answered that – privately, they were all having doubts over whether it _was _worth it.

"How's the room coming along?" Lee said to Bill.

"It's done now," the eldest Weasley brother replied. "It's pretty much a padded cell. One bed, bolted to the floor, one window, barred up, no sharp objects. Fleur isn't exactly happy about using the cottage for this, but we don't really have much choice."

"So, let's get this straight," Lee said, checking off the list on his fingers, "We know where he'll be, we know how we're going to incapacitate him, we know where to _take _him, and we know what to do once we've got him there..."

"We're ready then," Angelina nodded. "All we need to do is fill Harry in on the plan, and then get to work. Where _is _Harry, by the way?"

* * *

><p>At that moment, Harry was back at Hogwarts, contemplating a sneak attack of his own. All of Ginny's attempts to talk to Luna about her problems had failed – every time she tried to broach the subject, she would find a door slammed in her face – sometimes literally. She was currently up in Gryffindor Tower, sulking and trying to think of a plan, while Harry took matters into his own hands. Rising early in the morning, he waited under the Invisibility Cloak outside the entrance to Ravenclaw Tower. When Luna left for breakfast (at a ridiculously early hour, as usual), he tailed her, following her all the way to the Great Hall. She had barely finished filling her plate when he sat down next to her at the Ravenclaw table, and ripped the cloak off.<p>

"Luna, we need to talk," he muttered, before she could say anything. Much to his chagrin, Luna seemed thoroughly unsurprised by his sudden appearance.

"About my dad, right?"

"Right."

"Okay then," she murmured, and Harry gawped at her.

"Just like that?" he said, amazed.

"Just like that," she repeated, coolly.

Harry's brain was in overload. Every attempt of Ginny's – her best friend's – had been rebuffed, but the first time he asked, she agreed? What the _hell _was going through her head? Eventually, the only question he could manage was, "Why?"

"It involves you," Luna said simply.

"You slammed the door in Ginny's face!"

"It _didn't_ involve her."

"She's your friend; she just wants to make sure you're alright!"

"It was a mistake to tell her in the first place, it's nothing to do with her."

"So, let me get this straight. Your best friend isn't allowed to ask if you're alright, but I am...?"

"Harry, for the last time, it involves you, it _doesn't_ involve her," Luna muttered, hotly, and with a flush of annoyance that Harry had never seen on her face before.

"Alright, so it involves me... we're just going to go round in circles debating that, so I'll get to the point... what the _hell _happened?"

"Daddy told me what he did. He was guilty, so he thought he should confess."

"And?"

"_And?_" Luna said, aghast. Her cheeks had flushed an angry pink, and her voice was like ice, not her usual airy, dreamy tone. "Harry, he tried to sell you to the Death Eaters, then acted like nothing happened! Come to think of it, why didn't _you _tell me what he did?"

"I didn't want you to do this, that's why I didn't tell you!" Harry hissed. "He did it for you!"

Before the words had completely left his lips, Harry knew he had touched a nerve. Luna's pale face turned an even brighter shade of pink, and she stood up, glaring at him, as tears began to peak into the corners of her eyes. Harry had never seen Luna so emotional before...

"He didn't do it for me!" she screamed, gripping the table so hard her knuckles went white. A couple of nervous Hufflepuffs, the hall's only other occupants, got up and left as her voice grew in volume, sounding vaguely like a Howler. "Don't you _dare _say he did it for me! That makes it my fault! I wouldn't – I didn't want – I'd rather have _died_!"

Harry stared at Luna in amazement. Her usual calm, composed face was still brightly flushed with anger and horror, and two glistening tear tracks ran down her cheeks. He stood up, putting his hands firmly on her shoulders, and looked her in the eyes.

"He was desperate to get you back, Luna. He _did _do it for you."

"No he didn't!" she bawled, and Harry was very glad Hermione wasn't around to comment on his _"way with women"_, for his words had only made things worse. "How could it have been for me if I didn't want it? He did it for himself! He did it so he wouldn't feel the pain himself, but he didn't do it for _me_!"

"Didn't you want to be rescued?" Harry murmured.

"Not if it meant hurting you! I'd rather have _died_!"

The last few words sent another chilling pang through Harry's heart and soul. _"Someone else willing to die for you," _his guilty conscience crowed, but for once in his life he pushed it back. It wasn't the time to be guilty, that would only make things worse.

Luna took a great, racking sob, then pushed past Harry and headed for the doors. He vaguely heard a scream of "Leave me alone!", and saw a very stunned Neville being shoved aside as she passed, before Luna disappeared from sight again. Harry too ignored Neville as he left – he regretted it slightly, but his mind was on other things. Never in the brief time he had known her had he seen Luna so upset, not even when discussing her late mother. Frankly, it disturbed him.

His first priority was to discuss it with Ginny. He raced back up to Gryffindor Tower, and found her curled up in an armchair, deep in thought. It took him a few minutes to describe his and Luna's conversation, by the end of which Ginny was staring open-mouthed at him in amazement.

"I've never seen her that angry," he concluded, looking slightly worried. Ginny, however, seemed thoughtful, and was wearing a knowing, pondering expression that was usually reserved for Hermione.

"She's guilty," she mused, at last.

"What? _Guilty_? How do you figure that one?"

"'Don't you dare say he did it for me, that makes it my fault?'" Ginny repeated, eyebrow raised, and Harry suddenly felt rather stupid.

"Oh...that..."

"Yes, _that. _It's obvious – she's angry at her dad, but she's angry at herself, too. The first explanation he comes out with is 'I did it for you', which makes her think it's her own fault he did it in the first place."

"That's ridiculous."

"Yes, it is, but Luna doesn't realise that. Angry girls don't think straight."

"You don't say..."

Ginny punched him rather hard on the arm for the latter comment, then continued as if nothing had happened.

"The one thing we _shouldn't_ do is force the matter. If she's really that angry, she needs to be left alone long enough to calm down and think it over. Trying to talk about it now would just make Luna doubt herself more, and if she doubts herself, she'll try to convince herself she's right. In the long run, we'd just make things worse."

"When did you get so smart?"

"I've been spending _way _too much time with Hermione..."


	28. Chapter 28: Family Matters

**Chapter 28 - Family Matters**

Harry and Ginny had agreed to let Luna vent her frustrations before attempting to help her, so his therapeutic efforts had been directed to George Weasley. Right now, however, he was debating whether "therapy" justified breaking and entering. He wasn't sure it did, and neither did Ron, but it was out of their hands. Ahead of them, Bill was shrouded in a black traveller's cloak and hood. Beneath the cloak, Harry could see his wand slide out, pointing to the door.

"_Alohomora."_

The locks of the double doors clicked almost inaudibly, and Bill tested the handle tentatively – it swung down, and he breathed a sigh of relief. Harry took a last look at the scene behind him. Diagon Alley was cloaked in darkness, and thick clouds cast more shadows over the street. Despite the cover of darkness, Harry was still grateful to see that the street was abandoned. Everyone was tucked up in bed, sleeping peacefully, and no-one was around to see the three men step inside Weasley's Wizard Wheezes.

Once they were inside, Bill locked the doors behind them with another jab of his wand, and pulled down his hood, as did Harry and Ron. There was another click to Harry's right, not the locks this time, but Ron's Deluminator. Eight orbs of light sprang up to the ceiling, and the lamps that hung over the shop floor burst into life. The shelves were neatly lined with George's remaining stock, all organised in their proper places in neat rows. Harry, however, thought this was more likely the work of Mrs Weasley and Ginny, rather than George himself.

Silently, Bill nodded to the back of the shop. The three men wound their way between the shelves, ducking through a small door in the far wall that led to the stairs. As they climbed the staircase, Ron reached back and clicked the Deluminator – the ground floor fell into inky blackness once again.

"_Homenum Revelio,"_ Bill murmured, stopping at the top of the stairs. After a few moments of conspicuous silence, he nodded to himself, and turned the corner, as Ron reached up, effortlessly releasing the orbs of light again, this time to light up the top floor. The first thing Harry noticed was the bottles. They were strewn across almost every bit of floor, at the base of every wall, and on every windowsill, invariably lying empty, sometimes smashed. When Bill pushed the door to the bedroom open, the stench of alcohol was so pungent that he reached out, and released a little puff of smoke from his wand – a warm, peppery sensation filled Harry's nostrils, cutting through the heavy layers of stale whiskey.

"And now we wait," Bill sighed, as they returned to the hallway at the top of the stairs. The new moon in the sky above cast no light through the windows – yet another detail Bill had factored into his choice of timing.

As Bill paced up and down the hall, Harry was re-running the plan in his mind. Lee and Angelina were waiting at Shell Cottage – Fleur had moved into the Burrow for the time being, to leave the house free for their use. Bill would distract George, while he and Ron actually did the stunning. Nervously, he checked that the bulge of his Invisibility Cloak was still present under his cloak, then checked his companions. Bill was still pacing up and down in nervous anticipation, clearly undergoing a mental battle over whether he was doing the right thing. Ron, on the other hand, was flicking Vanishing Charms at the glass bottles around the walls.

"_Evanesco... Evanesco... Evanesco..." _Each of the bottles disappeared in turn as he walked along the wall. Just as the last one vanished from sight, there was a click downstairs, and the sound of footsteps. Bill shared a quick, fleeting glance with the other two, as if to say "this is it", and Harry fumbled for the Invisibility Cloak. Ron hurried over, as he swung it upwards and over the pair of them.

The two boys (especially Ron) were far taller than they had used to be, and had to crouch slightly to hide their feet. Beneath the cloak, they both drew wands, while Bill took his place at the top of the stairs, steeling himself for what he apparently thought would be a tough ordeal.

It was another minute before the unsteady footsteps began to ascend the stairs, and they heard a low curse from George's approaching form. He didn't speak until he reached the top step, leering at Bill.

"What the bloody hell are you doing 'ere?" he mumbled. "Gerrout!"

"No," Bill replied, sounding remarkably calm. "You can't run away from this forever, George."

With that, he gave the slightest of nods to the corner, where Harry and Ron stood. They shared a brief, nervous look, then straightened up. The cloak slid away, falling to the dusty floor, as the two of them swung out their wands, pointing them squarely at George.

"_Stupefy!" _Harry yelled, as next to him, Ron roared _"Petrificus Totalus!"_

George barely had time to see his attackers, let alone comprehend the attack, before both spells hit him squarely in the chest. Harry's slammed home first, and his eyes lolled back, passing into an unconscious daze. A split-second later, Ron's Body-Bind Curse struck too, and his slumping body suddenly froze. George fell rigidly to the floor, and Bill grabbed him by the shoulder to stop him rolling down the stairs.

The three men left standing looked at each worriedly, before their nerves settled to the task at hand. Bill picked George's rigid form up by the shoulders, turned, and disappeared with a subtle pop. Harry looked at Ron, who was drawing light back into the Deluminator, and then they followed suit, imagining the kitchen of Shell Cottage.

A moment later he was standing in the kitchen, rather than imagining it, and his eyes were adjusting to the bright light. When they focused again, he took in some of his surroundings. Bill was on the other side of the table, still holding George up, as Lee rushed over to take some of the wait. Angelina was waiting too, looking rather pale as Bill took George's wand from his pocket, slung it onto the table, and then picked him up, as Lee took his legs. The two disappeared with George's still form, and Angelina dropped into one of the wooden chairs around the kitchen table, distractedly hovering several glasses of butterbeer over to the table from the sideboard.

Harry sat down next to her, followed by Ron, and they both took their drinks gratefully – Harry was amazed to find his fingers shaking slightly at the enormity of what they had just done. After a minute, Bill and Lee returned, also taking seats and drinks.

"How is he?" Angelina murmured.

"He's not petrified any more, but he _is _still out cold. That was a bloody powerful Stunning Spell, Harry," Bill said, and Harry looked guiltily at his feet.

"So, what now?" Ron whispered.

"We wait until morning," Bill replied, and they all left it at that.

After downing the dregs of their butterbeers, they disappeared to various areas of the house. Lee retired to one of the spare rooms, Bill went off to send a letter to the Burrow, and Ron and Harry bedded down in the sitting room – Harry slept on the sofa, while Ron conjured a mattress on the floor. As he tried to get to sleep, Harry vaguely heard Bill heading upstairs to the main bedroom, but he was focusing instead on the lone light next door, in the kitchen – he was fairly sure Angelina was maintaining a night-time vigil.

When Harry awoke in the morning, he immediately became aware of slow discussion in the kitchen. He got to his feet, grabbing his shirt from its resting place and pulling it on, before walking through to the kitchen.

Angelina and Bill were both sat at the table, looking thoughtful. Angelina in particular had huge bags beneath her slightly puffy eyes, and Harry suspected she had been up all night.

"Morning," she murmured, looking vaguely in Harry's direction.

"How is he?" Harry mumbled back.

"Hung over," Bill said simply, from the far end of the table. "You heard what Hermione said about withdrawal. Right now his head's spinning, he wants to be sick, and his stomach's burning for another drink. First step is to get a proper meal down his throat."

A quick glance at the stove showed Harry the tiniest of bacon sandwiches, and a huge pitcher of water.

"What are we waiting for?" Harry said, curiously.

"Another wand. I need someone to watch my back in case he picks a fight."

Harry just nodded, and fumbled in the pocket of his jeans, as if to confirm that he did indeed _have _a wand. Bill got wearily to his feet, and took the plate and pitcher from the sideboard. He nodded to the hall, and Harry followed him out, casting a worried glance at Angelina, who barely seemed to notice them leaving.

"Right then... here goes nothing," Bill muttered when they finally reached the spare room, or "the cell", as Lee had cheerfully nicknamed it. Harry unlocked the door with a quick murmur of _"Alohomora"_, and Bill nudged it open with his foot.

As they entered, Harry got his first glimpse of Bill's handiwork. The whole room had been painted white from floor to ceiling, the windows had been barred, and the only pieces of furniture in the room were a bed and a small table beside it, both bolted to the floor. George was lying on the bed, clutching his head in his hands. When Harry and Bill entered, he looked across, and shot them violent looks of fury that were only stifled by the throbbing pain in his temples. He sat up, and slid his legs over the side of the bed.

"Drink this, it'll help," Bill said, matter-of-factly.

"Give me my wand," his brother replied, speaking through gritted teeth.

Bill ignored him, and held out the pitcher of ice-cold water. George pushed it away, splashing Bill in the process. Resolutely, Bill grabbed his wand and wiped the water away with a non-verbal charm, then set the pitcher down on the bedside table and retreated to the door, beckoning for Harry to follow. The pair of them stood by the door, staring at George as he stared back for several long minutes. Eventually, however, his pride and resentment gave way to his pain, and he reached for the water in frustration. Despite slightly shaky hands, George pulled the pitcher towards himself, and began to drink desperately from it. A few flecks of water spilled onto his crumpled shirt, but he carried on regardless, until the tin jug was empty. He dropped it to the floor with a clang, then collapsed back onto the bed, clutching his stomach as ice-cold liquid poured into his alcohol-inflamed gut.

Next, Bill stepped forward and wordlessly passed him the tiny sandwich. George eyed it suspiciously, and in an equally persistent silence. Harry found himself waiting for at least another fifteen minutes next to Bill, until finally, the glorious smell proved too much for George's addled senses, and he took a tentative bite. He swallowed it quickly, then took several more in quick succession. No sooner than he had finished, however, George dropped to his knees, clutching his stomach again. His cheeks swelled, and Harry shot a worried glance at Bill, who looked stoic and grim, as George began to retch, and then –

_Splat_. George's breakfast emptied itself across the floor in a foul-smelling puddle. George doubled over, and retched again and again. Only when every scrap of food and water had re-surfaced did Bill step forward, drawing his own wand and muttering _"Scourgify"_. George's breakfast quickly disappeared, and the pale-faced young man collapsed back onto his bed. With barely a look back at him, Bill headed for the door, waving for Harry to follow.

"We'll bring some more once your stomach's settled," he muttered, as they stepped out of the room.

Harry and Bill barely spoke as they returned to the kitchen – Ron and Lee had woken at last, and joined Angelina at the table.

"How was he?" Angelina murmured.

"Not as bad as I was expecting," Bill admitted. "But right now he's too hung over to protest. Once he sobers up a bit, it'll get worse..."


	29. Chapter 29: Therapy

**Chapter 29 - Therapy**

The next few days, as Bill prophesised, were indeed worse. For the entirety of his first day of "therapy", George managed to eat only to vomit it back up within minutes, and by the second day, his sobriety had returned somewhat, along with his rage. After one encounter, which saw Angelina hurrying out of his room with tears in her eyes, Bill was forced to put a Silencing Charm on the door, for George's roars had grown so loud they kept the rest of the house awake. The problem with that was that it stopped them hearing things they _needed _to – when Harry and Bill stepped inside on the morning of the third day, Harry spotted several ugly, bloody dents where George had obviously pummelled the wall in frustration, and had been unhindered in his efforts due to their silence.

"We always knew it was going to be difficult," Bill reasoned on the morning of the fifth day, trying to comfort an utterly dispirited Angelina. The five of them had agreed to take shifts of visiting and checking on George, but Angelina invariably insisted on taking the longest shifts, getting almost no sleep. After three days of this, Bill and Lee, worried for her wellbeing, simply slipped a sleeping draught into her drink and let her slumber for an entire day, while they took over the responsibilities.

"I know, it's just..." Angelina could barely finish the sentence – Harry wasn't even sure _she _knew what she had meant to say.

"If it's any consolation, every bit of information we read said this is the worst stage. Once his body starts adjusting and the pain eases up, his frustration will too. We just need to stay focused."

"Oh, is that all?" she muttered. Bill didn't bother to reply – he obviously didn't want to start an argument.

By the end of the week, George was beginning to make improvements. They had stopped finding bloody marks on the walls or on his hands, and were now greeted by silence, which was an improvement compared to his previous angry rants. A week after their first attempt, Harry and Bill were to be found in George's room once again, with an identical pitcher of water, and an identical bacon sandwich.

Despite the improvements in his mood, George was still struggling to keep his food down – his ribs, Harry had noticed, were painfully thin. Bill had noted that once he was able to eat again, they would know he was on the road to recovery.

"Morning," Bill said brightly, trying to get a response.

"Morning," George grunted back, resentfully. Bill shot Harry a glance, eyebrows raised. That was the most rational response they'd managed to get out of him yet...

"Here. Try to keep it down this time."

George scowled at his brother, but took the food and water anyway. He took a few deep gulps of water, shutting his eyes as liquid relief flowed into his burning stomach – Harry, like the other "therapists", had spent a considerable time reading up on withdrawal symptoms, and they sounded much nastier than most curses. Searing pains in the abdomen, throbbing headaches, mild deprivation of senses...

Harry and Bill watched intently as George took a few mouthfuls of food, then another gulp of water, then finished off the sandwich. He placed the pitcher on the bedside table, handed the empty plate to Bill, and fell back onto the bed, groaning slightly, as the two observers left. Bill had long since removed the Silencing Charm, and they knew to listen for three sharp knocks on the door – George's signal that his food needed wiping off the floor...

However, as the morning passed into afternoon, no knocks came, and Bill ducked inside just to check – much to his surprise and satisfaction, George had managed to eat his first meal in a week, perhaps longer.

"Well then," he said, as he gathered around the kitchen table with the others, "time for phase two, I think."

"Great..." Lee muttered – they all knew that phase two would be almost as draining for them as it would be for George.

"Still, lovely day for it," Bill murmured, trying to sound cheerful but failing miserably.

That afternoon, the four boys marched into George's room together. He looked up with mild surprise and a lingering hint of distrust as they entered, and Bill stepped over to him, laying a set of fresh clothes on the end of the bed.

"Right, you. Get up, and get dressed. You're not lying in bed any longer," he said firmly.

"Says who?" George muttered, apparently hoping to sound surly and mutinous.

"Says me," his brother replied menacingly, making sure George could see the wand in his pocket. "Kitchen. Ten minutes."

Ten minutes later, George appeared, looking dishevelled and annoyed, but complying reluctantly with Bill's demands. Harry, Ron, Lee and Bill were all dressed in old jeans and t-shirts, like George, ready for an afternoon of hard work.

"The orchard needs picking, and now's as good a time as any," Bill said, simply, and headed for the door.

"You want me to pick apples?" George muttered, incredulously.

"Not just you, we're all pitching in. It's time you stopped sitting on your arse all day and actually did something worthwhile."

With that, Bill marched out of the front door. George eyeballed the other three boys, but none of them were moving until he did. Once he was out of the door, Harry made to follow, flanked by Lee and Ron. None of them relished the prospect of manual labour in the summer heat, but Harry had to admit, it was better than cleaning up blood and vomit from George's room.

Bill and Fleur's orchard occupied a large area on one side of the house, and was packed with green trees, all of which were dotted with dozens of little red orbs. Bill, it seemed, was well prepared (or, Harry suspected, Fleur was well prepared on his behalf); five wooden baskets were stacked by the gate that led into the orchard, and Bill handed one to each of the pickers, before taking one for himself.

"There are a few dozen trees in here," he murmured, as if to himself, "we should be able to get this lot cleared by sunset... Well, go on then! Get to it!"

The five young men scattered throughout the orchard, and set about their task, all the while making sure at least one of them (usually Bill) was keeping an eye on George.

The labour might have been designed to help George work off his problems (almost every book they had read for advice recommended physical exercise and labour as a distraction), but Harry found it surprisingly therapeutic himself. The rather menial task distracted him from any worries he had, and there was some kind of chemical relief in working his muscles to exhaustion.

By mid-afternoon, they were all getting into the task. Even George, who had spent the first couple of hours traipsing along, picking off the low-hanging apples, was making an effort to shin up the trunks like the other boys, plucking apples from the foliage with ease. Angelina had spent the hours watching them – she seemed rather annoyed that Bill wouldn't let her take part in the work, but was soon distracted by the arrivals of Ginny and Fleur.

Around four o'clock, Angelina emerged with two of the huge tin pitchers Harry had become so familiar with, both full to the brim with ice-cold water. She, Ginny and Fleur were all sipping at glasses as Harry made his way over, followed by Bill. As they reached the girls, two glasses were passed over the fence, and Harry took his gratefully from Ginny. The fierce summer heat was taking its toll – his t-shirt was stuck to him, and a thick rivulet of sweat ran down from his brow as he swept his fringe back. Bill too was drenched, and after drinking half of his water, he simply poured the rest over his face and neck to cool off.

"Hard work?" Ginny said, cheerfully. "I'd join you, but you look like you're doing just fine without me."

Harry scowled at her, and she giggled. It made a change from the tone of the last few days – while he stayed at Shell Cottage, she had stayed at Hogwarts, to be with Luna, but had made no headway in helping her reconcile with her father.

"How's George?" Angelina whispered, drawing Harry's attention back to the process of "therapy" and away from his own worries.

"Take a look for yourself," Bill grinned, pointing to the far edge of the orchard, where George was clambering up a tree trunk, slinging apples into his basket and looking grimly focused on the task. "Those books had a point – this kind of work's great for taking your mind off things..."

Harry nodded in agreement, then gulped down the last of his water.

"Back to work?" he asked.

"Back to work," Bill nodded. "We'll be done by this evening, no trouble."

With that, the two turned, grabbed their newly-emptied baskets from the floor (Fleur had taken them, tipping the apples into a sack to make space in the baskets), and returned to work. As they passed George, Bill told him to go and get a drink, and got a civil (if rather curt) nod in response. Harry and Bill watched as he paced over, took a glass of water, and began to take periodic swigs, exchanging a brief conversation with Angelina. Satisfied that the plan was working, the two men turned, and got back to work.

The sun was dipping low in the sky when they finished. Bill slung the last of the apples into yet another brown sack, and hoisted it onto his shoulders, as Lee and Ron took the other two, and disappeared in the direction of the stairs to the cellar.

Harry was left to walk inside, silently, with George. They stepped into the kitchen to find the three girls standing over a roasting hot stove, and what appeared to be a joint of meat.

"C'mon," Harry murmured, "we'd best get changed before dinner."

George nodded in a surly manner – it seemed to Harry that, in his anger at them, George was trying to ignore the fact that their therapy was working. He was determined to hate them for it, even if it cured him.

By the time the five boys had all washed, changed, and returned downstairs, there was a sumptuous roast on the table. A large hunk of beef steamed gently in the middle, flanked by great mounds of potatoes and vegetables, and a huge dish of gravy. After the afternoon's labour, Harry was keen to eat, but he, like everyone else, waited to let George go first. Nervously (and still avoiding their eyes), he began to stack vegetables and other trimmings onto his plate, as Bill carved several large slices from the joint, and piled them up in front of him.

Once the "patient" had gotten his food, everyone else followed suit. The boys in particular, exhausted and hungry, took huge portions of meat and potatoes to regain their strength, and then sat in tired patience, waiting for the cue to start. At a nod from Bill, everyone began to eat. Harry took a mouthful from his own plate, then looked across, past Ginny, who was sat next to him, to George. The young man had started tentatively (clearly still wary of how sudden a re-appearance his food could make), but was now heaping food into his mouth, eating ravenously to make up for a week of malnutrition.

As the meal wore on, pleasant chatter drifted from person to person – George didn't speak, but Harry could see he was listening as Fleur and Ginny gave the others news from the Burrow. After eating, they all retired to sleep, with Bill muttering something about an "early start", and Harry couldn't help feeling they had made progress.

Later, lying on the mattress in the living room with Ginny curled into his side, Harry now knew they had made progress. The book had detailed stages, from anger to guilt, and the sobs from across the hallway gave the definite impression that George had just moved on to the latter...

* * *

><p>Bill woke everyone at six in the morning the following day, despite the myriad of protests. As Ginny stumbled into the kitchen, followed by Harry, she assessed the general mood. George was stood away from the others, looking rather mutinous at the early wake-up call, but also looking cowed and slightly ashamed. Like Harry, Ginny had heard his crying in the night, and understood this new, surlier mood. Angelina and Fleur were stood at the back of the kitchen, attending to breakfast, and Ginny couldn't help noticing that Angelina looked awful – her eyes were puffy, and her face was pale. Lee and Ron were stood by the table, looking almost as mutinous as George, while Bill glared at them reproachfully from the doorway.<p>

After a hasty breakfast (which, Ginny noted with satisfaction, George managed to keep down), they filed out into the front yard, one by one. This time, Bill led them not towards the orchard, but towards a large, open, grassy area on the other side of the house, which had been marked with a circle of metal stakes, and a long stream of tape running between them. He waved for the four other boys to follow him as he walked over to a pile of spades, and began to hand them out. With an inward giggle, Ginny realised what he was going to get them to do, and felt glad that she wasn't one of the boys right now.

"Nice spot for a pond, this, isn't it?" Bill mused, ignoring the incredulous stares he received from George, Lee and Ron. Harry, Ginny noticed, didn't make any sign of protest – she suspected the labour was helping him work out some issues, too.

Without any further explanation, Bill stepped over the tape cordon, and buried his spade in the earth. Harry followed, nodding to George, who reluctantly clambered over the barrier himself and joined them. Soon, all five men were hard at work, digging outwards from the centre of the circle. Fleur disappeared somewhere, leaving Ginny and the shaky Angelina to watch on from the sidelines.

"Why can't you just use magic for this?" George groaned, suddenly – it was the most conversation they'd had out of him in days.

"It's character building," Bill grunted back, before attacking the earth once more.

Over the morning, the boys made a fair amount of progress. The area Bill had marked was huge, almost the same size as the house itself, but by midday they had cleared the entire circle, to a depth of about a foot. Bill called for a lunch break, and everyone filtered back into the house.

The beef bones from the previous day's roast had been boiling autonomously overnight, and Fleur (who had reappeared from wherever she had gone to) had served five huge bowls of beef soup for the boys, as well as three slightly smaller bowls for the girls, who hadn't spent the morning toiling and thus weren't as hungry.

After lunch, everyone stood up to return to work, but Ginny's attention was drawn to Angelina. The older girl was holding her stomach worriedly, and had gone rather green. As Bill reached the door, Angelina suddenly bolted aside, clamping her hands over her mouth. After exchanging a brief glance with Bill, Ginny tore off after her.

If Angelina had been aiming to reach the bathroom, she failed. Halfway through the sitting room, her knees gave way, and she heaved up the now-yellowish soup, all over the carpet. Ginny pulled out her wand, and wiped it away with a murmur of _"Scourgify"_, as Angelina got shakily to her feet, still looking rather sick. Ginny looped an arm around her back, and pulled her not to the bathroom, but out into the back yard, which was closer.

No sooner had they stepped out of the door than Angelina HaH, and ##began to retch again. Ginny watched with morbid curiosity as soup and bile splattered into the grass, and Angelina clutched her stomach once more. After a few painful minutes, she finally straightened up, and Ginny waved her wand over the small puddle in front of them, watching gratefully as it disappeared.

"Are you alright?" Ginny whispered weakly, knowing full well that Angelina _wasn't _alright.

"Just great," the other girl muttered, managing a pained, sardonic smile.

As they staggered around the side of the house, Ginny couldn't tear her worried gaze away from Angelina. Some of the colour had returned to her cheeks, but she still looked sleepless and worried, far more so than could be attributed to George alone... was it just Ginny's imagination, or had she put on a little bit of weight, too?

Over the next few hours, Ginny stood with Angelina like a worried guardian (Fleur had disappeared, just like she had in the morning), wary in case she should start vomiting again. However, she did not, and they both just stood and watched the boys at work, occasionally retreating to fetch drinks for them all from the kitchen. By sunset, the pond had descended another foot or two, and Bill happily announced that they would be done within the next two days, at this rate. The other boys looked far less happy at this prospect than he did.

Just like the previous day, they all returned to the kitchen, ate a warm meal (a large dish of shepherd's pie that Fleur had prepared while the others were outside), and retired to bed. Ginny, however, had no intention of sleeping. She went to bed with Harry, but after half an hour, she muttered something about getting a drink and retreated to the kitchen. She had her suspicions, and tonight she would follow them up.

The night's vigil was a hard one – Ginny was tired from a day in the heat, and the emotional stresses of the last week, but she was determined to stay awake. Occasional, she would hold her wand against her leg with a whisper of _"Ventus"_, and use the cold stream of air to stop herself falling asleep. At last, however, she got her reward – the click of a door shutting, and the sound of muffled footsteps on the stairs.

Cautiously, Ginny got up and went to the door, pressing herself against the wall to stay out of sight. The footsteps reached the bottom of the stairs, and she heard a low click, as the lock of George's door slid back, and the door swung open.

Rounding the corner, Ginny made her way to the now-unlocked door, and poked her head around the corner. Sure enough, Angelina was there, standing and watching George with a sad smile. _"So this is why she hasn't been sleeping," _Ginny thought, as she eased herself into the room.

Angelina heard the footsteps, but didn't seem to respond. Maybe she couldn't think of a suitable response. Ginny was looking her over – her lips were cracked, possibly from being sick again, and her eyes were puffy with a mixture of silent tears and sleepless nights. She was wearing a long t-shirt as a nightshirt, like Ginny, but a noticeable bulge disturbed the smooth fabric.

As she stared, realisation hit Ginny like a tonne of bricks. She looked at Angelina, who turned her head and looked sadly back. Ginny's lips moved, in an attempt to voice the unspoken question, but no words came out. Eventually, she just looked from the sleeping George to Angelina, trying to instil some meaning into her gaze. The other girl seemed to understand, and nodded, slowly.

"He's the father," she whispered...


	30. Chapter 30: Temptation

**A/N: Updates have been a bit thin on the ground for the last week or two, so I'm going to try and get through a few this week, to make up for it, although they will inevitably be slowing down due to work, and so on. However, I will say that the next few chapters are some of my personal favourites, and we finally get to move the story on a bit.**

**Chapter 30 - Temptation**

Ginny stared, astounded.

"He's... you're... _when_?" she spluttered, finally. Angelina nodded to the door, and the two girls stepped outside, pulling the door shut and locking it to avoid waking George.

"Just before you went into hiding," Angelina murmured, as they moved through to the kitchen, sitting on opposite sides of the table. "We were seeing each other then, and he came to see me, to tell me he had to go away. It just sort of...happened..."

"Who knows?" Ginny breathed, cautiously.

"Well, you," Angelina murmured.

"Obviously," Ginny interrupted, then let her continue.

"I told Lee when I found out. And I had to tell Bill and Fleur – this is the whole reason I wanted to help cure George's addiction, so they had to know, really..."

"So, no-one else knows? Katie, Alicia, your parents?"

"Nope," Angelina whispered, conspiratorially, "no-one else knows, and you can't tell them yet, understand?"

Ginny nodded. She hadn't been considering telling anyone in the first place, except maybe Harry...

"I understand. Now get some sleep, Angelina."

Angelina looked for a moment as if she might protest, but relented, and wearily headed for the stairs as Ginny returned to the sitting room, head spinning with the enormity of it all.

* * *

><p>Harry remained blissfully unaware of Ginny's night-time discovery as he continued George's therapy. The boys spent the next two days digging deeper and deeper, until the pond was around eight feet deep in the middle, and Bill pronounced that that would be enough. In a way, Harry was disappointed – he had enjoyed the distraction of their task. They spent most of the day after that lining the bottom with stones to stop the water seeping out, before, around five o'clock, they finished. They all scrabbled out of the hole, and looked back proudly, as Bill reached for his wand.<p>

"_Aguamenti!" _he roared, and a torrent of water burst from his wand into the freshly-dug hole. As Bill and the others watched the pond slowly fill up, Harry glanced across at George with a smile of satisfaction. In less than a fortnight, their therapy had had an effect. George was still slightly grumpy, and resentful of what they had done, but he nonetheless maintained civility, and looked much healthier – his gaunt bones now had some meat on them, his eyes were no longer bloodshot, and the pains of withdrawal were apparently far less severe; that, or he was learning to cope with them.

As the water reached the top of their hole, Bill flicked his wand, the last few droplets splashed down, and the jet of water ceased. The five men continued to survey their handiwork proudly, standing in silence for a few minutes, before heading inside.

Once they had all washed and dressed, the boys assembled in the kitchen, where Fleur was just finishing dishing up a roast chicken. It was a little early for dinner, but the boys were hungry, so they decided to eat anyway.

Just as they began to eat, George spoke up, to the astonishment of everyone else around the table.

"So, that's that done," he began, "what next?"

All eyes turned to Bill.

"Nothing," the eldest Weasley brother shrugged.

"What d'you mean nothing?"

"We've done all we can. After we've eaten, you can leave, if you want."

Harry's head did a somersault. Was Bill really saying this? After all the trouble they'd been through, he was just going to _let him leave_? Just like that? Harry stared incredulously at Bill, who shot him a "trust me" glance, then looked back at George.

"I can just... go?" George said, brow furrowed, as he voiced the surprise of every other person around the table.

"Well, there's no point in keeping you here, is there?" Bill muttered. "We can't just hold you here for the rest of your life to stop you drinking – we got you to stop for long enough that you can make a rational choice. From here, it's up to you whether you go back to it..."

George fell silent, as did everyone else. There was a general feeling of dissent around the table at Bill's decision, and Harry was definitely a part of it. So annoyed was he, he didn't notice Ginny and Angelina exchanging thoughtful glances, as if planning something, or the knowing smiles being exchanged by Bill and Fleur as they watched George eat.

The rest of the meal passed in silence, as George considered his options, and Harry considered Bill's lunacy. He suspected Ron and Lee were entertaining similar thoughts.

Finally, however, dinner came to an end. Fleur took the remnants of the chicken, carving off the cold meat to store in the larder, and gathering the bones for soup. Bill and Ron gathered up the plates and dishes, heaping them into the sink, where Bill began to clean them, one by one, with muttered wand work.

Still at the table, Harry was watching George intently – the Weasley brother, who had been so resentful of them, so frustrated with them, did not appear to be leaping at the chance to leave. Rather, he seemed to be undergoing an intense mental battle with himself over what he should do next. Eventually, he stood, and turned to Bill.

"I... I think I might stay the night. Y'know, leave in the morning. It's getting dark," he mumbled, apparently thinking of every excuse he could. Harry marvelled at the decision, and at Bill's gamble. Had he expected his brother to do this all along?

"Zat's quite alright," Fleur said, shutting the larder door. She shared a knowing look with Bill, then made for the door, murmuring, "Wait 'ere, everyone."

Obediently, they waited, standing around the table in curiosity and consideration. Ron and Lee, Harry noticed, were both eyeing George appraisingly, just as he had done. Outside, Harry heard the doors to the cellar stairs creak open, and Bill nodded subtly to Angelina, as they waited.

Eventually, they heard the small doors clatter shut again, and a few moments later, Fleur appeared in the doorway, clutching a large, green bottle. Harry looked across at Ginny, who was in turn looking nervously at Bill. Harry, however, wasn't nervous – like Bill, he had done his homework, and knew what this was supposed to achieve.

"Excellent," Bill smiled, as Fleur handed him the bottle. He turned to the sideboard and looked around for a corkscrew. "We made this from the apples you lot picked."

"What is it?" George asked, warily. He probably knew _exactly _what it was, just as Harry did, but was asking to confirm his suspicions anyway.

"Goblins call it apple wine," Bill mused, then added, "so do the Americans, oddly... Everyone else calls it cider."

Bill held the bottle in one hand, and his wand in the other, as he summoned seven little glasses from the sideboard, and abandoned his search for a corkscrew, simply blowing the cork out with a flick of his wand. He carefully began to pour each glass full of golden liquid, and when he was finished, he slid them out to the corners of the table, nodding for everyone to take a glass.

Harry picked up the nearest glass, and watched as George tentatively took his.

"You've done something to this," George muttered, eyeing the stuff with suspicion.

"Wise up, George. We're all drinking from the same bottle," his brother scoffed.

Harry glanced around, and saw everyone holding a glass except Angelina – he made a double take at that, because he had assumed the missing glass (Bill had poured seven glasses for eight people) was Ginny's, as she was underage. Ginny, however, was stood next to him, clutching a glass of the golden liquid. Harry's mind began to race with George's paranoia. What if Bill _had _done something, to all of the glasses? What if they were taking something "for the great good"?

"_No, no," _his mind reasoned, at last, _"If he'd tampered with them, he wouldn't be letting his little sister drink one."_

So why was Angelina left out? Harry's mind was going into overdrive. It had to be something specific to Angelina, but what would stop her drinking? With a sinking feeling, his eyes roved over her slightly swollen belly, and the pieces clicked into place. Vomiting in the mornings and after meals, sleepless nights, a generally moody disposition...

His eyes seemed to rove over Angelina for a few moments too long, because when he looked back around, Ginny had noticed his blatant show of attention. She looked up at him, then back to Angelina, and then at last back to him, nodding to confirm his silent suspicions. Harry's stomach lurched, as Ron began to speak.

"Well... bottoms up!"

Ron tipped his head back, and downed the small glass in a single gulp. Bill nodded, and followed suit. Harry looked between the two of them, then down at his glass, then tipped it into his throat, as Lee did the same. The drink was bitter, but ever so slightly sweet. It wasn't the warming sensation of butterbeer or firewhiskey, it was a piercing bite on the back of his throat; nonetheless, it felt like a weight was being lifted away from his chest as the alcohol coursed into his system.

At his side, Ginny nervously sipped from her own glass. After determining that she liked it, she took a swig, and the rest of it vanished down her neck, just as Fleur did the same. George was the last to drink, having engaged the glass in an intense staring competition. Finally, he shrugged, and took a large gulp.

The effect was almost instant. No sooner had the drink hit his throat than George retched loudly. Harry jumped to the side, pulling Ginny with him, as George spluttered and sprayed a mouthful of cider through the air, clutching the back of the nearest chair as he doubled over. After a minute of panting, he looked up at Bill.

"That stuff's poison," he spat, his voice belying a mixture of anger and shock at his old vice producing such a violent reaction.

"Yes, it is," Bill said, smiling enigmatically, as if all of his plans had slotted into place – Harry supposed they _had_.

There was a stale silence that persisted for at least another minute or two, while George considered the situation. Finally, Angelina spoke up.

"George...?"

"Sorry."

"What?"

Everyone around the table stood up a little straighter as Angelina stared at him, confused. George looked back, sunken-eyed and appearing fiercely angry, not with them, but with himself.

"I'm sorry."

There was a dull silence. No-one felt the need to ask for an explanation, and George apparently didn't feel the need to give one. Bill was grinning to himself, as Angelina and George stared at each other. Finally, as Harry began to feel like an intruder on the situation, Angelina spoke up again.

"Come with me, I've...I've got something to tell you..."

With that, she stepped over to him, taking him by the hand, and clutching her stomach with the other hand as she led him out of the room.

Harry and Ginny looked meaningfully at each other, and made a mutual decision to leave them to it. They headed for the door, dragging Ron – the only person who had been left out of the secret – with them, and followed by Lee, who seemed to be thinking along the same lines.

"I wonder if he'll take it well?" Lee mused, as they reached the doorway.

Before they managed to make their escape, Harry heard muffled conversation from the next room, and a loud thump. George had taken it _so _well, he'd fainted. With a sigh, Harry took Ginny's arm, whirled around, and popped out of sight.


	31. Chapter 31: The American Ambereye

**Chapter 31 - The American Ambereye**

The days following George's breakthrough had been blissfully quiet. Harry and Ginny had agreed to leave Luna alone for a while, which left them to enjoy a few peaceful days at the Burrow, while George and Angelina laid low, to sort things out.

It was with a mild sense of surprise, then, that Harry found himself soaring over South Wales on a broomstick in the middle of the night. A bright half-moon cast light over the mountains below, as he surveyed his travelling companions. Charlie and Bill were up ahead, framed by shafts of moonlight. To his right, Ron was gripping his broom rather tightly, looking grimly focused.

Harry was once again borrowing Fleur's broom, and was settled in his seat after several hours of flight. Charlie had lent him a brown dragon hide jacket, which kept the worst of the cold away. Ron had also received one of these jackets, Charlie was wearing his old, battered one, and Bill had a long black trench coat fluttering behind him.

"Almost there now!" Charlie bellowed, over the roar of the wind, and pointed vaguely down amongst the peaks of Snowdonia. Far below, in the depths of one of the valleys, Harry could just make out a few pin-pricks of light.

"About time!" Bill shouted back. "You've been taking us around in circles!"

"There was an aeroplane!" Charlie called.

"Good thing we didn't bring dad then!" Ron said, over the blare of the wind. "We'd have been following it for days!"

Charlie yelled something in response, but it was lost to the rush of wind filling Harry's ears. A moment later, Charlie swooped upwards, then swung down into a rapid dive, heading for the tiny valley below. Harry hauled his borrowed broomstick down to follow, as Bill and Ron both turned earthward and hurtled after Charlie.

For all the hours it had taken them to fly to Wales, it took the four men just sixty seconds to plummet down to the ground. They pulled up just thirty feet above the valley floor, and circled slowly down until they reached the ground.

Charlie dismounted first, as a tired-looking man approached. He had close-shaven hair and a stubbly beard, and spoke with a thick Texan accent.

"Took ya long enough, Charlie," he muttered, grinning wearily. "I still don't see why ya wouldn't just take a Portkey."

"Where's the fun in that?" Charlie laughed, as his three companions all stepped up, and the American took a quick look at each of them.

"These are yer brothers?" he asked.

"Bill and Ron are," Charlie said, nodding to the other two redheads, then continued, "This is Harry Potter, friend of the family."

It was oddly refreshing for Harry to hear himself introduced as such, as a "friend of the family", not a war hero. It was equally refreshing for the American to nod amiably at him, not start shaking his hand profusely and fawning over him.

"Good to meet y'all. Kyle Tate," he said, shaking each of their hands, then turning back to Charlie. "Rest of the team's sleeping. Reckon you'll be alright for a few hours?"

"We'll be fine, Kyle, now go get some sleep," Charlie replied – the American nodded, and walked off towards a cluster of tents at the valley's edge.

Charlie waved for the other three to follow him, and they set off, walking up the valley for several minutes until they reached a large metal pen. Inside, Harry could see a small, golden, leathery hulk. The dragon was lying still on the floor, wings folded tightly against its sides, eyes tight shut.

"Right," Charlie began, as the other three clustered around him, to hear the exact plan. "This camp's in the middle of the reserve, but the local keepers have put up wards above us, and at each end of the valley, so we don't have to worry about any wild dragons wandering down here."

"No, we've just got to worry about this one waking up and cooking us alive," Ron muttered.

"It's a baby," Charlie said dismissively, with a wave of his hand. "Nowhere near fully grown. Two stunners could bring it down in a pinch, four can knock it out for a few hours at a time."

The sleeping dragon let out a little snort, and a belch of smoke erupted from its nostrils. Bill and Ron both stared at the unconscious mound with nervous expressions. Charlie, on the other hand, was wearing an expression of fascination that Harry usually associated with Hagrid and his berserk pets. After a few minutes, as the great reptile settled down again and fell silent, they were spurred back into action.

"Bill, Ron, you two check on the north side, Harry and me will take the south. Just test the barriers, make sure they're holding, then meet us back here."

Bill and Ron nodded, seemingly keen to put as much distance as they could between themselves and the dragon, and set off across the valley, as Charlie turned and walked off in the opposite direction, waving for Harry to follow him.

They walked in silence, and by Harry's estimation had only gone a few hundred metres before Charlie stopped, holding up a hand and reaching for his wand. He flicked it skyward, and cried _"Incendio!"_.

A surprisingly powerful jet of flames erupted from Charlie's wand, shooting into the air. Twenty feet away from them, however, the flames seemed to hit an invisible barrier, which quite suddenly became visible. The air shone bright white, and the flames bounced away, racing outwards and dissipating until all that remained were a few glowing embers, which fell lazily to the ground. Charlie nodded in satisfaction, and turned, heading back to the pen. Harry noticed, however, that he was moving much more slowly and ponderously than before.

"So," he began, quite suddenly, "you're still going through with the whole Auror thing, then?"

"Erm... yeah," Harry stuttered, caught off-guard by the question. Charlie grinned fondly back, and continued.

"Mum's tearing her hair out at the thought. You and Ron going off to hunt down dark wizards... I think she'd rather you were going back to study at Hogwarts next year."

"And you?" Harry asked, genuinely curious.

"Honestly?" Charlie said. "I can't imagine you doing anything else. Neither can dad, if he's honest. You've been fighting Voldemort in one shape or form all your life... nobody expects you to settle down in an office job after _that_, and that's no bad thing."

Harry raised an eyebrow at that. He knew Charlie's job wasn't exactly typical, but he never seemed to have issue with the rest of his family taking "office jobs".

"What about your dad? He's got an office job."

"Dad's an exception. He gets to indulge all his Muggle obsessions and gets paid for it, too."

"So you don't have a problem with us becoming Aurors?" Harry asked, wanting to progress the conversation, but feeling rather stupid for asking the obvious.

"Not at all. Hell, if there's anyone I want protecting us from Death Eaters, it's you. For a start, they're all bloody scared of you now..."

Harry laughed, and muttered, "Scared isn't quite the right word for it. Pissed off covers it better."

"I guess so," Charlie chuckled. "But seriously, Harry, there's something I need to ask you to do."

"What?" Harry asked, suddenly feeling rather nervous. Charlie's tone had dropped – he sounded grave, and rather scared.

"Look after my family, will you? I've got to go back to Romania eventually. I want to know there's someone looking after them."

"Charlie," Harry scoffed, "there's a lot more than just me looking after them."

"Just say you will, Harry," Charlie sighed. "Keep Ginny safe, and Ron, and my parents..."

"I will," Harry said, now feeling _very _worried. Charlie was usually the most jovial person, so to see him worried, to hear his tone change so was rather unnerving.

"Thank you. You know, I never got a chance to say it, but-" Charlie's words were drowned out by an ear-splitting roar. Harry and Charlie shared a terrified glance, then drew their wands and set off at a sprint.

Harry was slightly faster than the stockier Charlie, and saw what was happening before he did. The great, golden dragon had woken up, trampled its way out of the enclosure, and was now stalking across the ground, roaring and shooting off snorts of yellow fire from its nostrils. The great amber orbs for which it was named flickered across Harry – he saw the piercing golden eyes, the hooked snout, and got the distinct impression of a scaly bird of prey. The beast turned, and he saw a belch of flame rushing through the air towards him. Before he had time to react himself, Charlie had come up behind him and dragged him to the ground, out of the fireball's path. A wave of heat slammed into the two of them, and the dragon screeched again, as a voice rang out from somewhere near its feet.

"_Incarcerous!_" Bill yelled, and snake-like coils of rope burst from his wand – as he and Charlie stood up, Harry saw them twist around the dragon's snout, clamping it shut for a few precious moments. It did little to stop the bursts of flame erupting from its nostrils, but the spell at least stopped the dragon sinking its fangs into Bill or Ron, who were darting around by its feet, dodging more jets of fire.

"On three," Charlie shouted, knocking a few glowing embers off his jacket sleeve as he and Harry sprinted closer and closer to the rampaging beast. Both of them had their wands out, and Charlie yelled, "One...two...THREE!"

"_Stupefy!_" Harry cried, as Charlie yelled out the same incantation at his side. Two scarlet jets of light burst forth, missing the dragon's head by inches as at the last moment it reached down, trying to snap at Bill with its sealed jaws.

Charlie darted left, and Harry darted right, as the four wizards formed a square around the beast, all the while trying to avoid bursts of golden fire, or the dragon's flailing head, which whipped around madly in its efforts to break the ropes around its snout.

As Harry avoided a wide sweep of the dragon's tail, sidestepping it by inches, Bill deflected a burst of flames with a well-placed shield charm, and the stunners began to gain the upper hand. However fearsome the dragon might have been, it couldn't strike in four places at once.

"Now!" Charlie bellowed, as the dragon finally snapped the bindings around its snout, and reared its head in a celebratory roar. In the few moments of opportunity, all four boys jumped forwards, swinging their wands at the beast's head with a united cry of "_Stupefy!_".

Four blasts of red light shot upwards, all hitting the dragon squarely beneath the jaw in a single moment. The Ambereye's head reared back again, the great golden eyes swung shut, and the thick neck swung downwards. Charlie narrowly ducked out of the way, as the dragon's unconscious head smashed into the ground just feet from where he had been standing.

"Why did I _ever _let you talk me into this?" Bill moaned, as the four men looked down at the unconscious dragon.

Half an hour later, they had managed to move the dragon back into its enclosure and repair the broken walls. For added security, Charlie had tied a length of rope around the dragon's snout and neck, and pinned it to the ground with a large metal spike.

Satisfied that the dragon was well secured, for now at least, Harry and the three Weasley brothers had gathered around a small campfire, and were waiting for dawn, when the dragon keepers would move on once more.

All in all, it was a rather merry night, once the dragon had been sedated – Bill had slung three bottles of cider into a satchel, and the four men drank into the early morning, making sure not to get _too _drunk that they couldn't stun the dragon again.

As it happened, the dragon stayed quiet all night – Harry wasn't sure whether it was still unconscious or had merely given up and gone to sleep – leaving them to enjoy a cool summer night. By morning, as red-tinged sunlight peaked over the eastern side of the valley, all three bottles were empty, and all four boys were lying on their backs, looking up at the sky as it turned from black to blue.

"Morning," came a tired voice from behind Harry's head. He tipped his head back, and vaguely recognised the blonde Australian girl they'd met in France. In the background, several more people were emerging from the three tents by the edge of the valley, including the American, Kyle, who they had met the day before.

"Morning," Charlie croaked back. Harry couldn't help notice that Ron was smirking at Charlie, and Charlie was glaring in response. He decided not to ask questions while the girl was stood right next to them.

"Any trouble?" she asked, and Harry ran through several possible answers, mostly involving a lot of swearing.

"Nothing major," Charlie muttered, as the other three boys stared at him incredulously.

"Are you flying back?" the girl said. In unison, she and Charlie both looked at the small pile of empty cider bottles and glasses, heaped up in the grass at their feet.

"Err..."

"I'll make a Portkey," she said, sagely.

Half an hour later, everyone was ready to go. Two of the dragon keepers had removed the protective wards, the torches and tents had been packed away, and the dragon was now harnessed between half a dozen brooms. Charlie was holding his broom in one hand, and one of the cider bottles in the other, now transformed into a Portkey. Despite it technically being an illegal Portkey, the Australian had dared anyone at the Ministry to track her to Romania for something so trivial. Either way, Harry was glad not to be flying back – his legs were slightly unsteady, and the added task of staying unseen in the daylight would have made the trip far worse.

As the bottle began to shine a bright blue, the dragon keepers mounted their brooms. Six of them were flying on the brooms attached to the harness, while another four flew around them, two at the front, two at the back. Harry certainly didn't envy them the task of flying all the way to Romania...

Before they could watch the dragon keepers take off, the Portkey began to glow an even more vivid blue, and Harry pressed his fingers hard against it as he felt the familiar hook behind his navel. He lurched forward into nothingness, and then they were gone.


	32. Chapter 32: Coming of Age

**Chapter 32 - Coming of Age**

The weeks following Harry's little dragon escapade were mercifully quiet. None of the four boys told Mrs Weasley where they had really gone, they just told her they'd gone for a night out in London and stayed in a hotel.

These quiet weeks were divided between peaceful days at Hogwarts or the Burrow, shopping trips to Diagon Alley, idyllic wandering through the Devonshire hills with Ginny, and visits to Andromeda Tonks' house, to look after little Teddy Lupin. Harry was growing increasingly attached to his godson, as, he suspected, was Ginny, and they gradually found themselves visiting for enjoyment, rather than to give Andromeda a much-needed break.

Soon, though, everyone's attention was turning to birthdays. Harry's was coming up at the end of July, and Ginny's seventeenth was less than a fortnight later, so Mrs Weasley was constantly trying to plan one or the other, despite Harry's protests and desire for a quiet birthday, and the attempts of various other family members to help. Eventually she gave in – she agreed to a quiet family get-together for Harry, and allowed Harry, Bill and Hermione to help plan Ginny's big day.

Harry's own birthday passed, as he had hoped, in a peaceful, happy haze. He received a mound of presents at breakfast, and found that most of them were edible – Hermione and Ron had bought him a huge stack of sweets and chocolate, and Bill and Fleur brought him several bottles of cider (much to Molly's disapproval). Luna had also sent him a large parcel which he later found contained a dozen or more bottles of the Draught of Dreamless Sleep.

Books also made up a large portion of the presents. Charlie had bought him a book on dragons, as well as "the other present" – this mystified Mrs Weasley, but Harry knew he meant the dragon-hide jacket he had bought him a few weeks earlier, for the trip to Wales. Percy had given him several books on defensive spells, all illustrated with the precise motions and effects, and Kingsley's regal eagle owl dropped off a leather-bound tome entitled "The History of the Aurors".

A large box of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes products, with a scruffy note reading "The Auror's Survival Kit" found its way through his window by owl post around midday. Harry assumed it was from George and Angelina, and was pleasantly surprised to find it packed with copious amounts of Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder, Decoy Detonators, and a few positively deadly-looking Whiz-bangs.

Over dinner, Mr Weasley mentioned that his main present for Harry (beside the stack of sweets and the gigantic birthday cake) wasn't quite "in one piece yet", a statement which set Harry's mind racing into paranoia, as to what Mr Weasley could possibly be assembling. Would he attempt another flying Ford Anglia?

Overall, though, Harry's birthday passed just as quietly as he had hoped. He retired happily to bed that evening, and even managed to ignore Ron's snoring as he took a swig of potion, and drifted off to sleep.

Ginny's birthday was to be a much larger affair – it was her seventeenth, her coming of age, and the Weasleys were appropriately frenzied over the preparations. By August 11th, every detail had been planned out – Mrs Weasley had been approaching a nervous breakdown by the end, so Bill had done the majority of the planning.

Just like Harry, Ginny received a whole host of presents over breakfast, and spent most of the morning unwrapping them. Harry couldn't help noticing that her presents included a lot more clothes and a lot less books, although she did get a huge mound of sweets, just like he had.

Around five o'clock, everyone had retired to their various bedrooms to change – Bill and Harry, however, were only just returning from a trip to London. Ginny had been dismayed when he announced he had to go, but had grudgingly let him go.

"Have you still got it?" Bill murmured, as they slipped into the kitchen. Harry patted the pocket of his waistcoat, and a small, metallic lump came to hand.

"I've got it," he muttered. Both boys took a look around the kitchen – the counters were stacked high with plates, cutlery, and a giant silver punch bowl. Charlie had already set out a marquee in the garden, and several long, white tables, just like at Harry's seventeenth.

Cautiously, both boys looked up at the ceiling, as if hoping to see through it to the rooms above. They could hear a few bustling footsteps and creaking floorboards upstairs, and another set of footfalls descending the stairs. Moments later, Hermione poked her head around the doorframe.

"All clear," she whispered, conspiratorially. "Ginny's on her own."

"Great," Harry muttered, and headed for the stairs, as Hermione stepped past him, and set about helping Bill levitate the great piles of plates and cutlery into the garden.

Sure enough, as he climbed the stairs and crept into Ginny's room, she was on her own. She had her back to him as he entered, and was examining herself in a standing mirror by the far wall, as if assessing the knee-length white dress she had bought for the occasion a few days before.

Ginny barely seemed to notice Harry as he entered. He crossed the room to stand behind her, and put his hands around her waist. Finally, she seemed to acknowledge his presence, and leant back, resting her head on his shoulder, eyes blissfully shut.

"Happy birthday," Harry murmured.

"Thanks," Ginny whispered back, apparently unable to think of anything else to say. Harry, however, took the initiative. He drew back, and reached into the chest pocket of his waistcoat, drawing out a small, round parcel wrapped in brown paper, held together with string. Ginny took it suspiciously, and pulled the string apart. Her eyes bulged as a few rays of sunlight glinted off the contents.

Harry smiled fondly as Ginny examined the brooch, still staring at it in amazement. It was made of white gold, and consisted of a dancing lion, and a circular ring of polished metal. The ring was set with round stones of red onyx ("sardonyx", as Bill had called it when Harry showed him the brooch), and a tiny diamond stud rested where the lion's eye would be.

Ginny turned it over in her hands, running her fingers around the smooth outer circle, over the polished lion, and across the pin fastening on the back. Finally, she set it down on her dressing table, and lunged at Harry, hugging him tightly and kissing him on the lips. When they broke apart, she was looking quizzically at him.

"Where did you get it?" she asked, as if the question had been brewing in her mind ever since she saw the brooch.

"Gringotts," Harry said. "In my parents' vault..."

"Your _parents' _vault?" Ginny gasped, eyes bulging slightly. "So... that belonged to...?"

"To my mum, I think," Harry smiled, and kissed her again. Wordlessly, he took her hand and led her downstairs and out into the garden, where the rest of the Burrow's occupants were already assembled. A huge spread had been laid out on the tables, and the punch bowl had been filled to the brim – Harry watched as Ron took a cup, and the bowl magically refilled itself.

As afternoon pressed on into evening, friends and family began to arrive. Fleur, Charlie, Percy and Audrey all Apparated in from Shell Cottage, Luna stumbled out of the fireplace after Flooing from the Leaky Cauldron, and a gaggle of Gryffindors including Neville, Seamus, Dean and most of the old Quidditch team arrived from Hogsmeade, accompanied by a very merry Hagrid.

The night wore on, and once everyone had eaten their fill, the garden was filled with the sounds of music and dancing. Bill and Mr Weasley had conjured torches around the marquee to light the ground, and ghostly music was emanating from thin air.

As the night progressed happily, Harry lost himself in bliss. He and Ginny danced with reckless abandon, occasionally stopping to get food or drink, or talk to someone. Around midnight, Harry broke away from the crowd and headed for one of the long, white tables. He was boiling hot and desperately thirsty. Ginny had gone off to speak to someone else, possibly Luna, as Harry pulled his waistcoat off and slung it down on the table.

"Enjoying yourself?" said a familiar voice. Hermione weaved out of the crowd and approached him, smiling contentedly. Harry grabbed two butterbeers from the table, handing one to Hermione. She took it gratefully, as he took a thirsty gulp from his own.

"Yeah, it's a beautiful night. How about you, are you having a good time?" he said, as he surveyed the crowd of revellers.

"Wonderful," she smiled. "It's the most emotional I've seen Ron in a _long _time."

"Ron? Emotional?" Harry replied, in mock astonishment.

"Oh, be quiet you," Hermione murmured. "You know how protective he is of Ginny. Now he's got to get used to the idea of his little sister being a grown woman."

Harry smiled slightly, but there was also a hint of worry in his mind. He _did _know how protective Ron was, and there was one question still nagging in his mind, a question that had been burning there for weeks, maybe months.

"He doesn't mind, not anymore," Hermione said, simply, and Harry started with surprise. Even for Hermione, that was shockingly perceptive.

"How did you know what I was thinking?" Harry muttered.

"It's a bit obvious, Harry," Hermione scoffed.

Before he could reply, Harry found himself interrupted by Ginny's sudden arrival. She looked blissfully happy as she approached him.

"Harry? Can I have a word?" she said, sweetly.

"Sure," Harry replied. Hermione looked thoroughly relieved at the intervention, as Harry followed Ginny through the crowd of people, twisting and weaving until they were standing outside the marquee, bathed in pale moonlight.

Ginny didn't stop, however. She took his hand and led him silently away from the sounds of revelry, back into the Burrow. They crossed the kitchen, and headed for the stairs, with Ginny still pulling him onwards. Finally, she stepped into her bedroom, guiding him in after her, and finally releasing his hand as she twirled around, shutting the door and locking it. Harry was utterly mystified, as she walked over, and kissed him fully on the lips. He returned the favour, and they were locked together for at least a minute before she broke away, looking nervous, and ever so slightly breathless.

"I guess I'm all grown up now," she chuckled, and then grinned as she continued, "I love you, Harry."

"I...err... love you too?" Harry said, feeling mystified. Ginny rolled her eyes.

"You never take a hint, do you? I _love _you, you prat."

She stepped forward, grabbing Harry's collar and kissing him again. Only as her fingertips brushed his chest did he realise she had undone the top few buttons of his shirt. He looked down in surprise, then back up at Ginny, who smiled playfully, and undid the rest.

A cool breeze floated over Harry's body as he shrugged off his shirt, letting it fall in a heap on the floor. He kicked off his shoes and socks as Ginny did the same, pulling her heels off and throwing them to one side, backing up towards the bed as she did. He pursued her, and pulled her into another kiss. Any sense of modesty, doubt or trepidation was gone, replaced by simple passion, as he kissed her with all his might.

Quite suddenly, Ginny had prised his belt buckle open – in response, he picked her up with both arms, accidentally pushing her dress up her thighs as he did. She blushed beautifully as the white material rose past her hips. Then, with a little moan, she broke the kiss, and pulled the dress over her head, throwing it to the floor. Still suspended in his grasp, she looped her arms around his neck and kissed him again, as Harry felt her pulling him, easing them both towards the bed with her weight.

Still entwined together, the two fell down onto the bed, laughing between kisses, and remained there for the rest of the night.


	33. Chapter 33: Welcome to Your New Job

**Chapter 33 - Welcome to Your New Job **

The rest of October shot by in a blissful haze. He and Ginny were, if it was possible, even more affectionate after that night, and as September 1st arrived, the thought of leaving her manifested as a constant ache in Harry's chest. They both knew it had to be done, however, and sure enough, he was to be found at King's Cross as September began, stood dutifully beside her on the platform.

Harry wasn't blind. He knew he was attracting attention – how could he not, given his fame (unwanted though it was). Little first years gazed in awe at him as they realised who he was, reminding him a little too much of Ron and the twins, the first time they met. Many of the older students had been part of Dumbledore's Army at one stage or another, and shot Harry and Ginny friendly waves as they passed. He saw Seamus and Dean stepping onto the train, examining what looked suspiciously like a Decoy Detonator. Dennis Creevey waved enthusiastically at him – he smiled back weakly, but felt rather sick at the thought of Dennis' brother, Colin .

Shaking the thoughts from his head, he watched yet more familiar faces stepping onto the train. Luna crossed the platform in a daze, only noticing Harry and Ginny as she stepped aboard, and waving bemusedly at them. Up ahead, Ron was kissing Hermione, before she too stepped up into the carriage. Finally, Ginny turned to him, placing her hands around his neck and kissing him again.

"I'll write," she murmured, as they broke apart.

"Me too," he replied, smiling. Deciding not to delay the moment, Ginny levitated her trunk to the steps (revelling, as Harry had, in being able to use magic freely), blew him a kiss, then clambered up into the carriage.

Ron paced over to Harry's side, and both men watched the train wistfully. Ginny and Hermione both appeared at the window, slipping into a compartment with Luna, Seamus and Dean, and waving frantically through the glass. Harry waved back, feeling slightly awkward, as once he began to wave, he was compelled to _keep _waving until they were out of sight.

The Hogwarts Express gave a noble blast of steam, and with a slow grinding, began to roll away. Ginny and Hermione finally stopped waving, and sat back in their seats. Harry was rather surprised to notice Hermione dabbing at her eyes as she did. Just as the carriage began to move, Seamus grinned at his two friends, and threw them a joking salute. Both men chuckled – Seamus and Dean had agreed to look out for the two girls while Harry and Ron weren't there. Dean had been reluctant, given that he and Ginny were still rather awkward around each other, but had agreed nonetheless.

Finally, as the scarlet carriages pulled away from the station, Harry and Ron turned and headed for the barrier back to the Muggle world. Neville was lounging against it, waiting for them, and looking rather forlorn – even Harry couldn't fail to notice that he and Luna hadn't walked in together, and had barely looked at each other.

"Ready?" Ron said, slightly breathlessly.

"Yeah," Neville said, and Harry nodded his assent. They had decided to Apparate from Platform 9¾, rather than risk doing it on the Muggle side of the barrier. In unison, the three men wheeled around, and disappeared into thin air.

A moment later, Harry was standing opposite the familiar telephone box, which the three of them had last used to come to the Department of Mysteries. He much preferred the visitors' entrance to the main one, and Kingsley had yet to give them the Ministry coins that would allow them to access the main entrance.

"We can't all go at once," Ron muttered. "Neville, you first."

"Why me?"

"Just because. Remember, the code's 62442."

"Yeah, _magic_," Neville scowled. He stepped inside, picked up the receiver, and thirty seconds later they saw the entire insides of the telephone box descend. An entirely new broken receiver replaced it, and Ron stepped inside. Moments later, he too was descending into the bowels of the Ministry. Harry stepped forward, and squeezed into the box, picking up the receiver as he did and quickly dialling in the combination.

"_Welcome to the Ministry of Magic," _said the vaguely familiar voice._ "Please state your name and business."_

"Harry Potter, Auror Office," he said, trying to remember what Arthur Weasley had said when he came for his hearing. "First day of work?"

The smooth voice didn't bother to issue him with a visitor's badge. Apparently, she expected the Ministry to know its Aurors. The entire phone box jolted, whirred, and began to fall steadily downwards. A minute later, the glistening atrium came into view, and the doors slid open.

"_The Ministry of Magic wishes you a pleasant day,"_ said the voice, as Harry stepped out. Ron and Neville were already waiting for him, and the trio wordlessly set off. Harry and Ron both knew where the Auror Office was, while Neville was sticking close to them to avoid getting lost. They made a beeline for the nearest elevator, slipping inside and waiting for the lift to descend.

The three boys lounged at the back of the lift, waiting patiently and watched people flit in and out as they got closer to Level Two, where they knew the Auror Headquarters were located. Finally, after what seemed like hours, the golden grilles parted, to a chime of:

"_Level Two, Department of Magical Law Enforcement, including the Improper Use of Magic Office, Auror Headquarters and Wizengamot Administration Services."_

Kingsley was waiting for them as they stepped out of the lift. Dressed in appropriately ministerial robes of black and purple, he smiled placidly at his three new Aurors, and waved for them to follow him.

"Good summer?" he mused conversationally, as they rounded the corner.

"Great," Ron beamed. Harry nodded in agreement, as did Neville, after a moment's hesitation.

"And... here we are," Kingsley said, as he pushed the great oak doors open with a proud flourish.

Harry stood, slightly dumbstruck, as he looked around the room. When he had seen the Auror Headquarters previously, it had been full of two dozen or more cramped cubicles, each dedicated to a different Auror. Kingsley, however, had apparently been busy after Dawlish obliterated most of the office. The walls were painted in a glossy, golden colour, much like the grand atrium, and a huge window on the far wall looked out over a simulated London skyline, complete with simulated weather. Indeed, it was _so_ realistic that it took Harry a few moments to remember that it _couldn't_ be real, as they were underground. The wall to his left contained two doors marked as the Head Auror and Deputy Head Auror's officers, while the doors on the right-hand wall were labelled as the Equipment Room and Case Room.

The huge central hub was stunning. The near side of the room held a dozen desks, each covered with maps, noteboards, files, and everything that they could possibly need in the office. The far side of the room, however, was not filled with more desks. A huge, round disk, like a giant Pensieve, filled that side of the room. Harry supposed it was a map table, or something of the sort.

Finally, Harry's attention turned to the room's other occupants, as Kingsley led the three newcomers over to them. There were only three of them, something that troubled Harry slightly, as the Minister began his introductions.

"I believe you have already met Ben Williamson, Harry," he murmured, and sure enough, Harry recognised Williamson's face from Diagon Alley, not to mention Lupin's funeral. He was a young man – Harry supposed he couldn't have been much older than Tonks – with chestnut hair pulled back into a ponytail, and swirling brown eyes. As Ron and Neville finished shaking hands with Williamson, Kingsley stepped towards the next Auror, who Harry once more recognised from Lupin and Tonks' funeral.

"Liam Proudfoot," Kingsley said, and Harry shook hands with the man. Williamson was the same height as Harry, making him feel rather grown up, but Proudfoot was tall and lithe, with a similar build to Ron. He had short black hair, slicked back, and his facial hair had been arranged into a thin moustache and goatee. Proudfoot was definitely older than the other two – in his late thirties, by Harry's estimation – and had a calm, calculating gaze that rather reminded Harry of Professor McGonagall.

"Annabelle Savage," Kingsley said, as he introduced them to the third and final Auror. She was at least half a head shorter than Harry, with neat blonde hair and piercing blue eyes. She had a friendly demeanour, but Harry got the distinct impression of a fighter, rather like the impression he used to get from Mad-Eye.

The first thing that struck Harry about the Aurors, as he stepped back and looked at all three of them, was that none of them were dressed conventionally. Just like the three new Aurors, none of them were wearing full robes. Williamson was wearing a button shirt with the sleeves rolled up, Proudfoot was wearing a business suit, and Savage was dressed in slim jeans and a denim jacket. In short, they were dressed like Muggles. In the atrium, Harry had felt conspicuous, clad as he was in a leather jacket and jeans amongst crowds of robed figures. The Aurors, however, suited his dress style down to a tee, and he could see why. Muggle clothes made it far easier to blend in in a crowded street, and they were far less restrictive than robes when riding a broom or running.

"Now, for the guided tour," Williamson said cheerfully. "Over there's the Case Room. We store anything mission-related there – evidence, eyewitness accounts, past dossiers. Anything that we need for an investigation gets locked in there at night for safekeeping."

"And over here," Savage continued, waving for them follow, "is the equipment room. My baby. Almost everything you could possibly need is in this room."

Harry stared in amazement as she pushed open the door, leading the three boys in. The equipment room was set out more like a giant shop, with shelving units along the walls and on the floor. Savage wasn't lying when she said everything they could need was there. One corner was evidently dedicated to brewing, for whatever purpose – the shelves were lined with a plethora of ingredients, and two cauldrons sat below them, waiting to be used. Someone had scrawled "Potion" onto one and "Poison" onto the other in great luminous letters.

"Just to be on the safe side," Savage shrugged, as she followed Harry's gaze to the labels.

The rest of the room was equally amazing. A stack of broomsticks stood in one corner, while the shelves along the wall held every manner of defensive device he could imagine – Sneakoscopes, a couple of glinting Foeglasses, body armour, _magical _armour (Harry noticed that some of the Weasley's Wizard Wheezes Shield Charm products had found their way onto the shelves), and all manner of devices covered in glyphs and runes, whose purposes Harry didn't dare to guess.

The shelves in the middle of the room were lined with weapons, mostly Muggle ones (wizards, after all, didn't usually need any other weapon than their wand, so didn't make any). One rack held gleaming swords, another held staves. Yet another shelf was filled with knives, ranging from plain Muggle commando knives to magical daggers adorned with glowing runes.

Harry was sure, as Savage led them back to the central hub, that he still hadn't managed to see everything in the equipment room. There was simply so much _stuff _in there. As they returned, Kingsley gestured to the giant stone table which, as Harry had guessed, showed an intricate map of Britain.

"So..." Kingsley murmured. "Now that you've all been introduced, I would like you all to meet your new Head Auror."

Harry wheeled around, looking to the door. There was no-one waiting behind them, and it took him the best part of a minute to realise, with a mixture of amazement and embarrassment, that Kingsley was pointing to him.

"Me?" he spluttered, and Savage muttered something to Williamson that sounded like _"Told ya"_.

"You," Kingsley responded, patiently. Harry was amazed at how calmly everyone else had taken the news. Ron and Neville both looked like they had expected it from the start.

"Why? I've only just started here!"

"I've told you before now, real-life experience is what we need. That, and youth. You have a unique mind, Harry, and _that _is what I need running this department."

Harry looked at the three existing Aurors, as if pleading for them to object. None of them did.

"He's right, Potter," Williamson shrugged. "After all the stuff you've done, I've got no problem taking your orders. None of us do."

"And on that note..." Kingsley murmured, glancing at his pocket watch, "I have some business to attend to. I trust you three can bring them up to speed?"

The three Aurors nodded, and Kingsley swept out of the room. Williamson set off towards his desk, at the far end of the room, and waved for them to follow, but Harry held back, and put out a hand to stop Ron.

"_Head Auror?_" Harry hissed. He still couldn't quite believe it himself, and the last year had given him some lasting concerns over Ron's envy that he needed to test.

"They're right," Ron whispered. "You're the hero. Me, I'm happy to be a sidekick."

"Deputy," Harry corrected, on a whim. Ron stared at him, jaw hanging open slightly, and then both men broke into brotherly grins, as Williamson returned, clutching a red, cardboard folder.

Williamson strode up to the map table and up-ended the folder, wordlessly. Harry saw a number of photos spill out over the table.

"Mug shots," Williamson explained. "Every Death Eater of importance goes in this file. The first thing to do is to bring you up to speed on our targets."

The Auror quickly waved his wand, and the photos spread across the table, their occupants still snarling and gnashing their teeth – after seven years in the wizarding world, Harry still hadn't quite gotten used to the moving photographs.

"Proudfoot, if you'd like to do the honours?" he said, with a mocking bow and a flourish. Proudfoot rolled his eyes, but stepped forward nonetheless, drawing his wand as the other five Aurors clustered around the edge of the table.

"Bellatrix... Travers... Crabbe... Goyle... all dead during the Battle of Hogwarts," Proudfoot muttered. With each name, he tapped the corresponding photo, and a burning red "X" appeared over them.

"I swear we killed more than four," Ron grimaced, sounding almost disappointed.

"These aren't _all _the Death Eaters," Williamson explained. "These are the ones we know, and who we think are noteworthy. Voldemort's inner circle, if you like, but not his whole army."

"Precisely," Proudfoot nodded, then began to tap more photos. "Now, Avery... Jugson... Nott... Mulciber... Selwyn... Rowle... and the Carrows... they're all locked up in Azkaban now."

Inky metal bars covered the photos of the imprisoned Death Eaters as Proudfoot tapped them. With a wave of his wand, the red-crossed photos flew to one side, and the black-striped ones to the other. With the dead and imprisoned gone, only five photos remained.

"These five are still free," Proudfoot growled. "Yaxley, Rookwood, the Lestrange brothers, and Antonin Dolohov."

"We don't know how many of them have chosen to run and hide," Savage added. "But we can assume Dolohov is still active after your little _encounter _in Diagon Alley."

"So, we've only got five Death Eaters to hunt down?" Harry asked.

"Five of Voldemort's inner circle," Proudfoot corrected. "There are also a few other, more minor Death Eaters still out there, and some Snatchers who we couldn't track down."

"But for now, these are the five we're worried about," Williamson reasoned. "These five are the only ones we think might strike back. If we take down any other Death Eaters or Snatchers on the way, it's a pleasant bonus. What we're mostly concerned with is finding these five, and stopping them from making any revenge attacks."

"Too late," Harry muttered, bitterly thinking of Dolohov, and the attack on Diagon Alley.

"Any _more _attacks, then," Williamson said, looking rather tense at the memory.

"Let's get to work, then," Harry nodded.

The rest of the day passed rather pleasantly. Harry didn't dive into the Head Auror's office (partly because he was still in denial), but instead took an empty desk and began to sort through a stack of files, filtering out useful information – locations, names, and so on – and stacking the rest to one side. The other five Aurors were all doing the same, calling out for opinions whenever they found anything useful.

Around lunchtime, Williamson disappeared, and returned with a stack of pizzas from a local Muggle eatery. The Aurors took a much-needed break, gathering around one of the disused desks to eat. Once they had finished, all eyes turned to Harry.

"So, chief," Savage began, "you've had some time to catch up. Where do you want us to go from here?"

Harry took a moment to consider, then made his mind up.

"We need to divide our attentions until we have a path to follow," he said, trying to sound professional and decisive. "We don't have any leads, so we need to spread out and find some. Neville, I want you to profile the Lestrange brothers. Ron, you take Rookwood."

"Got it," his two friends muttered. Harry had been very deliberate in those choices. He knew anger was a powerful motivator in matters like this – the Lestranges had tortured Neville's parents, and Rookwood was responsible for Fred Weasley's death.

"I'll look into Dolohov," he continued, "Proudfoot, you set to work on profiling Yaxley."

Proudfoot nodded, as Williamson and Savage looked at him, trying to silently point out that there were two Aurors left over. After a brief consideration, Harry made up his mind.

"Williamson, I want you looking into the minor targets. We've got lists of all the registered Snatchers, so that's a good place to start."

"Snatchers. Aye, I'll try and smoke them out," Williamson nodded.

"Savage, can you handle security? If there _are _any more attacks, we can at least predict the targets and keep them safe."

"Sure. Members of the Order, defectors, anyone who could be a revenge target."

"Precisely. Let's get going..."

Harry vanished the empty pizza boxes, and returned to his desk, sifting through the pile of information he had gathered for anything related to Dolohov. By four o'clock, he had a fair evaluation of the man – he was one of Voldemort's oldest supporters, and he was an extremely dangerous dark wizard in his own right. Beyond that, he knew very little. Antonin Dolohov wasn't British – Harry assumed he was Russian, from the few references he could find – thus, unlike the Lestranges or Rookwood, his information and address weren't in the Ministry's records. Even his prisoner record from Azkaban didn't identify his birthplace, or any details of his youth. The first reference to him that Harry could find was inside his own memories – at Tom Riddle's job interview, Dumbledore had named Riddle's "friends"; Nott, Rosier, Mulciber and Dolohov.

By the end of the afternoon, he was no closer to pinning down Dolohov. Ron, Neville and Proudfoot had all amassed huge profiles on their targets, but as far as the archives were concerned, Dolohov was a ghost.

"I think we should call it a day," Ron muttered, as he appeared at Harry's shoulder. It was almost five o'clock, and Harry was just turning over sheets he had read a dozen times before that afternoon, frantically searching for any extra scraps of information.

"Yeah... yeah, you're right," he grumbled. Reluctantly, he grabbed his brown dragon hide jacket from the back of his chair and pulled it over his shoulders, before stacking the various files and papers on one corner of the desk. The other Aurors were all getting up and slinging on jackets or travelling cloaks as Ron and Harry left.

By coincidence, they met Mr Weasley and Percy in the elevator down to the atrium.

"Good day, boys?" Arthur asked jovially.

"I guess," Harry muttered, "but they've got less leads than we thought – none."

"That's a good thing," Percy interjected. "We don't _want _sightings of Death Eaters, we want them to disappear for good."

"I suppose..."

"It's your first day, Harry," Mr Weasley reasoned. "You can't expect to track them all down the first time you try. It's a matter of patience."

Harry nodded in subdued agreement, as the four men stepped out of the elevator and crossed the atrium, heading for the great fireplaces that would take them home. When they reached them, Harry took a pinch of Floo powder from the communal dish next to the mantle, and threw it in, before stepping into the emerald flames.

"The Burrow," he said, as clearly as possible, and felt himself whirling upwards and outwards, surrounded by glistening flames.

When he stepped out of the fire, Mrs Weasley pulled him into a motherly hug, and then did the same for Ron as he emerged behind Harry. He could smell a roast baking gently in the oven, and the table was already set for four.

They spent a pleasant evening eating, discussing work, and generally relaxing, before Harry retired to bed early, still sleeping on the spare bed they had conjured in Ron's room. Before he finally drifted off to sleep, he reflected on the day. If things were going this slowly, the Death Eaters would have to wait a long time for any sort of justice...


	34. Chapter 34: Justice

**Chapter 34 - Justice**

The next day, Harry and Ron were to be found back in the Auror Office at eight in the morning. The other four Aurors weren't due in until nine, but they had come in early to take stock, and look around their thus-far untouched offices.

Harry's desk was rather as he had expected it to be. Another weather-simulated window on the far side of the room, walls stacked with bookshelves and filing cabinets, and a large oak desk with a leather chair behind it.

His largest surprise, however, came when he opened up the desk. The top two shelves were empty, ready to be filled, but the third desk contained a low, rune-adorned metal disk. He picked it up gently, watching the translucent liquid sway around inside it. There was no mistaking it: it was a Pensieve.

Before he could investigate the Pensieve further, Harry heard the great oak doors to the office swing open. He slid the smooth dish back into its drawer, and returned to the hub.

Williamson had arrived early too, and at the sight of Harry he looked both relieved and exhilarated.

"Harry, just the man I wanted to see," he began. "I've got something."

He proceeded to cross the room, grab a file from his desk, and lay it down on the map table on the far side of the room. Williamson, Harry and Ron gathered around it, as he pulled out several documents and laid them side-by-side. There were moving photos showing an unassuming detached house, and a grizzled face snarling at the camera.

"We got a tip-off about a Death Eater, one of the ones on my list. An anonymous message puts him here" – he pointed to the house in the photos – "in Muggle Manchester. He's not one of Voldemort's inner circle or anything, but I thought you might as well know. It's the only lead we've got so far."

"We'll follow it up," Harry nodded. "If we can bring in one Death Eater, we can at least say we're making progress."

"Exactly," Williamson agreed. "The source was anonymous, but the information might be good."

"What about the Death Eater? Who is he?" Ron asked.

"Nathaniel Fletcher," Williamson muttered, searching through the file before drawing out a sheet of paper. A short, summary biography was written on it, and a photograph of Nathaniel was attached to one corner. He was a rather ordinary man, with plain features, short brown hair, and hazel-coloured eyes. His photographic self didn't snap or snarl, it merely stared at the camera with a mixture of anger and fear.

"This guy's a Death Eater?" Ron asked, surprised.

"He's a pureblood. Eldest son of the family, married to Sabine Fletcher, no kids, parents are long-dead. He got drawn into the movement once the Second Wizarding War began, like a lot of purebloods. As far as we can tell, he legged it when Voldemort died and managed to slip the net. He's been hiding out here for months, possibly with his wife, too."

"Is he any threat?"

"To a team of Aurors? Nah... He'll probably know a few curses, maybe some more advanced dark magic, but he's not up to the standard of Yaxley or Dolohov. If we go in quick and as a team, we can bring him down easily."

"Right," Harry muttered, as he thought things through in his head. "Ben, you go ahead. Take whatever equipment you need, and scout the place out to see if he's really there. When the others get here, we'll come and join you."

"Got it," Williamson nodded, and swept out of the room with a purposeful air.

Harry and Ron spent the next half hour going through the equipment room for anything that might be useful. In the end, they grabbed a few handfuls each of Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder (yet another of Fred and George's products that had found its way into the Aurors' hands), and stepped back into the hub.

By nine o'clock, Neville had arrived, as had Savage and Proudfoot. After a brief explanation, all five Aurors set off. Williamson had left copies of the photo and maps for them to use, and after analysing them on their way out of the Ministry, the Aurors, one by one, began to Disapparate.

As he arrived on the street, Harry immediately took in his surroundings. It was a quiet, suburban road, with several neat, inconspicuous houses on either side. Had he not already seen the photos, Harry wouldn't have been able to distinguish anything out of the ordinary about the target house. The weather, however, was setting a grim facade over the place: rain was just starting to splatter down over their heads as they arrived.

A few moments after arriving, Harry spotted Williamson hurrying up the street, wand in hand. As he reached them, the six Aurors huddled together, heads bowed against the rain.

"Any luck?" Harry muttered, furtively.

"He's here," Williamson nodded. "I cast a Revealing Charm, and there's two people in the house, probably Nathaniel and his wife."

"You cast a Revealing Charm?" Proudfoot whispered, angrily, "They'll know we're here now!"

"They can't go anywhere," the other Auror said, trying to placate him. "Anti-Disapparition Jinx."

"Good work," Harry interjected, before Proudfoot could protest any further. "What about the house? How do we get in?"

"There are two doors, front and back," Williamson murmured. "Usually I'd recommend an Unlocking Charm, but there isn't much point in stealth now they know we're coming."

"We should blow the doors down," Savage reasoned. "They might be waiting to ambush us on the other side. If they are, a Blasting Curse should knock them down before they get the chance."

The other Aurors nodded agreement, and Harry began to consider their options, fully aware that they were in a Muggle city, in a Muggle suburb, surrounded by potential Muggle witnesses.

"Alright," he began, "here's what we'll do. Williamson, you stay here, maintain the jinx so they can't Disapparate. Proudfoot, stay with him and keep an eye out for Muggles. If anyone wanders into the area, wipe their memories and confund them to make them leave."

Proudfoot and Williamson nodded, as Harry paused again, then continued with his plan.

"Weasley, Longbottom," he murmured, and shared a grin with his two friends at this mode of address, "Take the front door. Wait outside until you hear us blow down the back door, then move in. Savage, we'll go in through the back entrance."

With a brief exchange of nods, the Aurors spread apart, moving slowly towards their targets. Williamson, however, lingered back for a moment, and made to stop Harry as he set off after Savage.

"Hey, chief," the other Auror whispered. "Present for ya. Consider it a thank you, for Diagon Alley."

Wordlessly, Williamson pulled a dagger from his belt, and span it round to extend the hilt to Harry. He took it, and briefly examined it – it was a fine steel blade, with runes engraved along its length. Quickly, Harry slipped it into his own belt, and nodded to the other Aurors as if to say _"Let's go"_.

With that, the Aurors all hurried into place. Williamson and Proudfoot crossed the street, hiding in the shade of a tall birch tree in one of the opposite houses' gardens and watching the target building intently. The other four sprinted towards Fletcher's house, then split up. Ron and Neville slid into place on either side of the front door, wands drawn and ready. Harry crossed into the back yard with Savage at his heels. They stopped a few feet from the door, wands trained on it, as Harry reached into his pocket, passing a small parcel of Instant Darkness Powder to Savage.

"When I blow the door, throw that in," he muttered, and Annabelle nodded back.

Finally, once he was sure Ron and Neville were ready, Harry stepped forward. The house was creaking slightly in the wind, and the steady patter of rain was becoming a rhythm inside his head. He trained his wand firmly on the door, gripping it rather tightly.

_"Confringo!" _

The door gave way with a cataclysmic _bang _as a fireball ripped through the rear porch. The door itself was reduced to smouldering splinters, and a good section of the wall was torn away. Shards of charred glass and brick were scattered into the grass, as Savage leant back and hurled her little package into the breach.

Instantly (as the name implied), inky darkness filled the hallway, swirling as it mingled with the smoke from Harry's spell. On the other side of the house, he heard another loud bang and a flash of orange flames, and knew that Ron and Neville had just breached the other side of the house. Quickly, Harry sprinted into the gaping hole his spell had left, followed by Savage.

There was no-one lying in wait as they entered. The hallway had been obliterated, and one wall of the sitting room had been torn down – as they entered, they saw the furniture littered with brick dust and mortar.

"Are we taking him dead or alive?" Savage whispered, pointing her wand into the hallway.

"Either's fine," Harry muttered in response. With Savage covering his back, he moved into the hallway. One end was a yawning chasm, where the front door had once been, and the other end was occupied by stairs to the floor above. Ron and Neville had already entered through the hole they had made, and were now scouring the adjacent kitchen.

Harry crossed the hallway and examined the room next to the kitchen. It appeared to be a study, with a Muggle computer and a few metal-framed bookshelves. There was no sign of life within. Before he could examine any further, Harry heard a gasp of shock from the hallway.

"My God..." Savage murmured. She had pulled open the cupboard under the stairs, and was staring in horror at the contents. Buried beneath a moth-eaten rug was a pile of charred bones, presumably belonging to the previous owner. Harry felt rather sick, but it also strengthened his resolve ever-so-slightly. Any doubts he had harboured about Fletcher's supposed crimes were temporarily banished by the blackened corpse.

"Come on," Harry muttered, nodding to the stairs. As Ron and Neville continued to search the ground floor, he climbed to the first with Savage, reaching the top of the stairs and rounding the corner into a narrow hallway. There were two doors on the left, and the two Aurors cautiously paced towards the first one. Harry's hand had barely reached the handle, however, before the second door flew open, and a jet of light streaked down the corridor, narrowly missing Harry's head before it slammed into the wall behind him.

Harry backed up instinctively, drawing level with Savage as the figure from the briefing photos appeared in front of him. Nathaniel Fletcher looked far worse for wear than he had in the photo – his chin was covered in rough stubble, and his eyes were tired and bloodshot.

"_Petrificus Totalus!" _he bellowed, but the two Aurors were faster.

"_Protego!" _screamed Savage, plucking his curse out of the air as Harry darted forward, with an angry cry of _"Stupefy!"_

The red jet from Harry's wand narrowly missed Fletcher's head, and the Death Eater swung again, this time crying _"Expulso!"_

Savage made to block it again, but Harry remembered what had happened in his duel with Dolohov, and grabbed her around the waist, diving backwards and pulling both of them back onto the landing at the top of the stairs, out of the hallway. Sure enough, the curse deflected off Savage's Shield Charm, and exploded on the wall, just inches from where they had been standing. The wall was pulverised – chips of brick and plaster stung Harry's arm and face, as rain began to pour through the newly-opened wound in the house's side.

Both Aurors were on their feet as Fletcher rounded the corner, and he had to double back to avoid two scarlet Stunning Spells. Furthermore, Ron and Neville had heard the commotion, and were now hurrying towards the stairs. Harry's attention was drawn back to the fight as Savage sprang forward.

"_Reducto!"_

"_Protego!"_

Savage's curse was sent bouncing upwards by Fletcher's shield, and a section of the ceiling gave way as the spell disintegrated it. Debris rained down on Savage's head, and moments later Fletcher had followed through with a yell of _"Incendio!" _that sent her toppling backwards with a yelp as her legs were stung by fire.

"_Expelliarmus!" _Harry shouted, springing at Fletcher. Fletcher, as Williamson had predicted, was not actually a very good duellist. He had relied on surprise and distraction thus far, and his reactions were woefully lacking as Harry sent his wand flying away.

Disarmed, Fletcher attempted not to recover his wand, but to fight without it. He caught Harry by surprise, lunging at him in fear and desperation, and almost bowling him over. Harry's own wand was knocked from his hand, and bounced down the stairs as Fletcher grappled with him.

At the same time, Harry heard someone scream like a raging banshee, and out of the corner of his eye saw a raven-haired woman fly out of the hallway, charging at Savage, who was back on her feet. Two cries of _"Incendio!" _were batted away by Savage's Shield Charms, before the woman sprang at her, swinging her fists. Sabine Fletcher fared no better than her husband – she managed two steps before the Auror brought her crashing down with a Stunning Spell.

The momentary distraction gave Fletcher the upper hand – he wrenched Harry around, dragging him a few yards closer to the stairs and trying to throw him down them, all the while hitting him with any free hand, elbow or knee. Ron and Neville were halfway up the stairs, but hesitated – clearly, they didn't want to risk hitting Harry in the melee. Somehow, Harry managed to free one hand, and dealt Fletcher a heavy left hook which knocked him back, pulling Harry with him until both men were teetering on the top step.

Harry seized the moment of opportunity, reaching into his belt and drawing out the dagger Williamson had given him, acting on a heady cocktail of instinct and bloodlust. Before Fletcher could land another hit, Harry had driven the blade in once, twice, thrice. Warm blood spattered his hand, and Fletcher tensed, before tumbling backwards. Harry, still locked in a grapple with him, tumbled too, and both men were sent crashing down the stairs.

Halfway down, however, Harry felt friendly hands grab his collar, as Ron and Neville caught him, and wrenched him away from the wounded Death Eater. As they pulled him onto his feet, Fletcher bounced the last few steps and rolled to a stop in the entrance hall.

Any momentary relief was stifled as orange light began to fill the corners of Harry's vision. Turning around, he saw the landing ablaze, as Savage ran for the stairs, hauling Sabine Fletcher's limp form after her. Apparently, Sabine's deflected curses had set light to the surrounding wooden floor and the plaster-board walls.

"Move!" Savage yelled, and the other Aurors needed no further bidding to do so. They turned and sprinted down the steps, two at a time. Savage followed, slowed by the dead weight she was pulling, before finally giving up and tipping Sabine roughly down the stairs. At the bottom, she once more grabbed the woman's unconscious form, as Harry grabbed one of Nathaniel Fletcher's limp arms and dragged him outside too.

Even as they stepped out into the rain, however, Harry knew it was a useless effort. Nathaniel's body was beginning to stiffen with rigor mortis, and his blood soaked the grass as they stopped in the front garden. Proudfoot and Williamson were sprinting across the road, staring in horror at the burning building.

"Bloody hell," Ron moaned, as he ran a hand through his hair, and watched the glistening embers fill the air. "Bloody hell..."

Harry wasn't looking at the flames. He was staring down at Nathaniel Fletcher, whose blood was flowing freely through the grass.

"Is he...?" Williamson trailed off, watching the body as Proudfoot paced over and crouched over the Death Eater's body.

"Dead," Proudfoot announced. "Ex-sanguination."

"Bled to death," Harry muttered, holding his dagger out and wiping it through the grass to clean the blade.

"There's a team on the way to clean up. I'll wait here until they arrive, you lot get back to the Ministry," Proudfoot murmured, as he straightened up. Harry nodded wearily, and turned to leave, followed by the other Aurors.

When they returned to the Ministry, Harry spent twenty minutes debriefing Kingsley, then retreated to his office, not even emerging for lunch.

Objectively, everything was sorted. A Death Eater was dead, a collaborator was on her way to the courts, and the fire had been covered up as a "gas leak". Harry, however, was plagued by the knowledge that blood was on his hands once more, quite literally. It wasn't innocent blood, but it was blood nonetheless...


	35. Chapter 35: Back to School

**A/N: Thanks for the reviews, guys, they're great motivation to keep writing this. I also love how people (*cough* lyaser53 *cough*) are trying to predict where the story's going to go - one of my missions for this story is to not have anyone guess correctly before the last few chapters.**

**Chapter 35 - Back to School**

The day after the death of Nathaniel Fletcher, his face was spread across the front page of the newly-reformed Daily Prophet. Ginny couldn't help thinking that they were overstating the man's villainy – he sounded like an expendable pawn to her – but was nonetheless glad to see that they were praising Harry for once. Deep down, she suspected Kingsley had a lot to do with that – the Prophet had only opened again with his permission, and on the conditions that any hint of libel or slander would see it shut, this time permanently.

Ginny's thoughts were interrupted as Hermione arrived, taking a seat next to her at the Gryffindor table. As she began to pile pieces of toast onto a plate, Ginny slid the paper towards her. Hermione picked it up absent-mindedly in one hand, then almost choked as she read the front page.

"They killed one _already_? Well, Harry's quick, I'll give him that..."

"Wait, you're not surprised he killed him?"

"Not really... worried, but not surprised."

"Me neither," Ginny said, considering it for the first time. "But he'll take it badly, I know he will. He always does..."

Before she could muse on Harry's guilt any longer, Ginny was interrupted by the boisterous arrival of Seamus Finnegan, with Dean Thomas following rather awkwardly behind.

"Mornin' girls," Seamus said cheerily, sitting down and helping himself to a handful of everything on the table. "Sleep well?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?" Ginny replied, grinning sarcastically.

"Hey, don't joke about that," Seamus chuckled. "Harry'd kill me."

That sent a small pang through Ginny's stomach – Seamus had yet to find out that Harry had _actually _killed someone the day before.

"What class have we got first?" Ginny asked, keen to change the subject.

"Defence Against the Dark Arts," Hermione murmured – apparently, she had memorised the timetable already.

"So... nothing, right?" Ginny replied.

The jinx had been lifted on the Defence position, but only the faculty and Harry's friends knew that, so McGonagall had been unable to find a teacher for the subject. That had certainly caused a stir at the welcome feast. Their timetables listed one of the old third floor classrooms, but no professor.

The rest of Ginny's timetable was far more normal. She, Hermione, Seamus and Dean all shared Charms, Potions and Transfiguration lessons with the other Gryffindors. In addition, Dean was taking Herbology, Seamus and Ginny were studying Care of Magical Creatures, and Hermione had chosen Arithmancy.

"So Defence first," Ginny recited, "then Care of Magical Creatures, then Charms and Transfiguration this afternoon..."

After breakfast, the four Gryffindors made their way up to the third floor, as Ginny began to wonder whether they would get a teacher for Defence at all this year. When they reached the classroom, they found McGonagall waiting outside, along with three Ravenclaw students – Luna, Terry Boot, and Padma Patil – who, curiously, had stayed to repeat a year when her twin Parvati hadn't.

"Right," she began, as they gathered round. "Now you are all here, we can begin. As you know, we have been unable to find a teacher for Defence Against the Dark Arts this year, so for the time being, I'm afraid you will be teaching yourselves."

"Teaching ourselves?" Hermione repeated, open-mouthed.

"Miss Granger, if my memory serves me correctly, you and Mr Potter taught half of the students in the school during your fifth year..."

Hermione flushed an embarrassed red, but Ginny had to admit, McGonagall had a point.

"There should be nothing on this course," the Headmistress continued, "which you have yet to use in real life. Now, I have my own class to teach, so I shall leave you all to it."

With that, she handed Hermione a scroll of parchment, and swept off up the corridor. Still looking rather dumbfounded, Hermione beckoned for everyone to go inside, and they filed into the classroom. As they entered, Hermione unrolled the parchment, and began to scan the list, reading off some of the topics while Ginny took a seat at the edge of the room, next to Luna.

"Duelling... Unforgivable Theory... Patronus Charms... we've done most of this already, in the DA..."

As Hermione spoke, Ginny looked around, gratefully confirming that all of their fellow students were DA members too. Oddly, only Ginny and Luna were actually seventh years – every other Defence student was retaking the year. Ginny supposed that being around Harry for most of your school life and seeing the events he had experienced might well push you towards Defence Against the Dark Arts...

After a very short-lived debate, it was decided that Hermione would do most of the teaching, having learned far past NEWT level during the Horcrux hunt. No matter how much she argued that Seamus and Ginny both had an affinity for duelling, she had to reluctantly admit that she was the best student there, and the best qualified to teach them. They spent the rest of the hour making a list of everything they had learned in Dumbledore's Army, and deciding what they would study first. Typically for a group of teenagers, they _still _hadn't decided what to study at the end of the lesson.

The year's first Care of Magical Creatures lesson was far more _normal_, although it was a worrying start when Hagrid gave them each a pair of fireproof gloves, and led them to a huge glass tank on the grass outside his hut. Oddly, as Ginny approached, she couldn't see any creatures, just a roaring orange fire within the tank.

"Right then," Hagrid nodded, gruffly, as his students gathered around the tank. "Today, we'll be studyin' Ashwinders."

Looking around at a sea of mostly blank faces, Hagrid's brow furrowed.

"Err... anyone know what an Ashwinder _is_?" he asked, hopefully. To Ginny's surprise, Luna's hand shot up, and Hagrid nodded to her.

"It's a serpent," she said, in her usual airy tone, "born from the embers of magical fire."

"Very good," Hagrid nodded, and looked back at the tank. "Now, this 'ere fire's been burning overnight. That's what makes Ashwinders, see – the fire has ter grow unchecked and then burn out."

As Ginny peered into the tank, she could see that the entire thing was now filled with flames. While the class watched, Hagrid raised his pink umbrella, and tapped the glass. The fire swelled, and a few people leapt back in surprise, before the flames began to fall away, receding towards the centre of the tank and spitting out hot, glowing embers.

"So, where are the-" Ginny began, then stopped dead. As the embers carpeted the bottom of the tank, something was stirring inside the glass. A small ridge appeared in the ash and glowing embers, and then a head appeared. Quite slowly, a long, pale grey torso followed it out, slithering left and right like a sidewinder.

"There ye go," Hagrid announced, apparently quite proud.

As Ginny blinked, and looked around the tank, she noticed that there wasn't just one Ashwinder, but several, at least half a dozen. They were quite thin, about the size of an adder, with grey scales – not shining silver, but dusty grey – and glowing scarlet eyes that appeared to be burning. As they slithered through the burnt grass inside the tank, they left trails of ash behind them.

"We're just studyin' them fer today," Hagrid said, "next lesson we're goin' ter have a look at their eggs. Now, just take whatever notes ye want – write about them, draw them, I don't mind, but do it quickly."

"Do it quickly?" Ginny whispered to Seamus and Luna. "Why does that matter?"

"Ashwinders only live for an hour," Luna murmured back. "Or less, if they lay eggs. Once they lay their eggs, or the hour passes, they crumble into dust."

They spent the rest of the lesson rather pleasantly, sitting on the grass and sketching the Ashwinders as they slowly wound around the edges of the tank. The snakes were rather dull-looking things, but they fascinated Ginny, and by Hagrid's standards, they were positively cute.

After an hour had passed, Hagrid motioned for everyone to cluster around the tank once more.

"Gather round, gather round," he muttered. "Now, Ashwinders only live fer an hour after hatching" – Ginny and Seamus both shot Luna a knowing look – "and these ones haven't got any shade ter lay eggs in, so they're about to go."

Sure enough, as the class watched on, one of the pale serpents stopped as if petrified. Without warning, its shining red eyes exploded into a flurry of embers that bounced off the tank walls, and the snake's dusty grey scales began to dissolve into fine streams of ash, mingling with the remnants of the fire. Over the next minute, all of the Ashwinders crumbled away until the students were left staring at a tank full of ash.

"Right then, off ye go," Hagrid said, and they began to disperse, walking back across the grounds to the castle.

Ginny met up with Hermione in the Great Hall, and tried to look interested through lunch as her friend babbled on about the merits of Arithmancy, and how she still understood it despite missing her sixth year – something that no-one else seemed very surprised about. Ginny only began to pay attention again when the subject changed, and the tail end of a sentence, "...Room of Requirement", filled her ears.

"What was that?" she muttered, trying to sound like she had just misheard.

"I _said_," Hermione began, "we should check on the Room of Requirement when we get a chance."

"Why?" Ginny asked, sounding unintentionally dumb.

"We need a place to practice for Defence Against the Dark Arts," Hermione explained, with her usual patience. "And, I'm curious to see if it's still in one piece."

"In one piece?" Seamus muttered. "Why wouldn't' it be?"

"It was... damaged during the battle."

"How the heck d'you damage a magic room?"

"With Fiendfyre?"

"Ah... that... that would do it."

"Exactly," Hermione murmured, with a hint of triumph. "I'd imagine the room would repair itself, but it could take months, or years, even."

"We could go in our Defence lesson tomorrow," Ginny proposed.

"That might raise too many questions," Hermione murmured. "I'll go tonight, and if it's clear, we'll take the class up there tomorrow."

* * *

><p>That evening, Hermione set off from Gryffindor tower just after sunset. Despite Ginny's insistence that going in the night would also raise too many questions, Hermione knew she had a decent excuse – Ginny had consistently failed to notice the Head Girl badge pinned to her robes. Setting off on her night-time "patrol", she made her way up to the seventh floor, encountering no-one in the darkened corridors.<p>

When she finally caught sight of the familiar tapestry (Barnabas the Barmy was slumbering peacefully in his frame, as were the trolls), Hermione paused, wondering how to gain access. Finally, she decided, and began to pace up and down.

"I need to see if the Room of Requirement is still... intact?" she whispered, concentrating on the statement within her mind.

She paced once, twice, three times, before stopping. There was a notable lack of doors. In fact, the wall was perfectly blank – it was, to all intents and purposes, a wall. Hermione stared dejectedly at it. The room, it seemed, was dead.

"_Wait, dead? Why did I say dead? Why not broken?" _she thought, and then an idea began to bloom inside her mind, as her doubt and her instinct waged a silent argument with each other.

"_It's a coincidence," _began her doubt.

"_Maybe not," _replied her instinct.

"_It's a room, it can't be that picky!"_

"_It might be a room, but it is still sentient..."_

"_Just because it can think doesn't mean it values semantics!"_

"_I would..."_

"_Then why haven't you tried it yet?"_

"_Because you won't shut up!"_

Finally stifling her doubt, Hermione turned on her heel, and began to pace up and down the corridor, all too aware of the sound of her own footsteps, and her rising, apprehensive pulse.

"I need to see if the Room of Requirement is still _alive_,"she murmured, shutting her eyes and focusing utterly on the words.

She walked down the corridor once, then twice, then a third time (and then a fourth, just in case).

When she opened her eyes, a large oak door stood resplendent in the middle of the wall. Except, it wasn't quite as resplendent as she remembered – the masonry around the frame was chipped, and the wood appeared aged and slightly worn. Was it just her imagination, or did it look just a little bit blurry?

Cautiously, Hermione pushed the door open, stepped inside, and realised that it definitely _wasn't _her imagination.

"Oh my..." she gasped, gazing around at the once-familiar room.

It wasn't so much blurry as _distorted_. The walls and the high ceiling were ever-shifting hazes, a mass of smudged outlines and whirling fragments. It was almost as if the room was shifting between every phase and state it knew.

As the room continued to flicker between incarnations, a few glistening potion vials dropped out of the ceiling, only to dissolve out of existence before they hit the ground. More worryingly, a fiery snake's head (a remnant of Crabbe's ill-fated Fiendfyre) burst from one wall, only to be swallowed moments later – the very walls of the room seemed to fold in on themselves to consume it, and yet they didn't shrink at all. The whole room seemed to be undergoing a dangerous series of impossibilities which sent Hermione's mind into a daze. She shrieked as a cupboard from the Room of Hidden Things clattered into existence next to her, and was pulverised into firewood – when she looked down, however, there was no trace of it.

An almighty groan seemed to echo from within every atom of the room, and Hermione saw, to her astonishment, the familiar stone pillars of the DA's hideout bursting from the walls. They were extending and growing and becoming solid, and then, moments later, they shattered. Great cubes and shards of blurry-edged stone hung in mid-air, then flew back into the walls, which seemed to shake with living exhaustion.

The room was filled with chaos in its purest form, as the intricate web of realities inside it was unravelled, or perhaps re-ravelled. Hermione didn't know exactly how long she lingered, marvelling at it all, but the moon was high in the sky when she left, and when she snuck back up to the dormitory she now shared with Ginny, her friend was deep in a blissful slumber.

Hermione, however, couldn't sleep. It was as if the chaos in the Room of Requirement was infectious, seeding odd rhythms and patterns within her mind. There was something very disturbing about their old sanctuary being in such a ruined, fragmented state...

When she finally drifted off into sleep, Hermione was troubled by haunting dreams. She was in the Room of Requirement – literally _in _it, within the walls. For some unknown reason she was filled with terror, and an overriding, burning need to escape, but every time she broke free of the wall's embrace, she was swallowed back up again by folding ripples of stone, stifling her screams.

In the morning, when she finally awoke from her fitful sleep, Hermione's mind was divided. Part of her wanted to return to the Room of Requirement as soon as possible, to try and fathom out the blurred reality within. Another part of her, however, wanted never to set foot in the place again...


	36. Chapter 36: Flames

**Chapter 36 - Flames**

The next day, Ginny awoke to find Hermione still slumbering rather fitfully. She left her friend to rest, and departed to breakfast.

Hermione was absent throughout breakfast, and at the start of Charms. Just as Ginny was contemplating going back to Gryffindor Tower to wake her up, she arrived, looking a bit worse for wear. Her hair was tousled, her eyes were slightly puffy, and she still had a few crumbs around her mouth where she had hurriedly attempted to catch up on breakfast with a piece of slightly-burnt toast.

"I am _so _sorry, Professor," she said, as she slid down into her seat next to Ginny, looking absolutely mortified. Professor Flitwick, on the other hand, merely shrugged and squeaked something inaudible, then returned to teaching his class.

As soon as Flitwick's back was turned, Hermione slapped Ginny on the arm, going red with embarrassment and frustration.

"_OW! _What was that for?" Ginny muttered.

"Why didn't you wake me up?" Hermione hissed in reply.

"I don't know... you looked like you needed some rest," Ginny shrugged.

"You sound like Ron..." Hermione murmured.

Both girls sulked slightly at this exchange, then set their attention back to the lesson. Hermione's mood got worse as the lesson went on, as Flitwick spent most of the hour lecturing them on Memory Charms. Ginny felt rather sorry for Hermione, as the last half an hour consisted of Flitwick reciting all the different ways the charm could go wrong, most of which involved the subject's brains being well and truly scrambled. Hermione's face was rather ashen by the end, as the inevitable thoughts of her parents resurfaced.

As they left Flitwick's classroom, Ginny's heart urged her to stay with Hermione and comfort her, but Hermione was heading off to Arithmancy, while Ginny was traipsing out into the grounds for double Care of Magical Creatures.

Pallid clouds were beginning to roll across the sky as the seventh years assembled once more on the grassy patch behind Hagrid's hut. The huge tank from the last lesson had been replaced by a dozen smaller tanks, each containing a smaller version of that fire. Hagrid was stood in the middle of all of them, with the tanks in a ring around him, smiling with anticipation.

"Mornin' all," he called jovially, as they approached. "Gather roun', two to a tank."

Ginny caught Luna's eye, and they shuffled over to the tank in front of Hagrid, standing beside it. Seamus and Dean took the tank to their right, while two Hufflepuffs in Ginny's year who she had never spoken to took the tank to their left.

"Everybody got a tank?" Hagrid shouted, and they all nodded assent. "Righ' then. We're gonna be studying Ashwinders again t'day, only this time, we'll be collectin' their eggs. Can anyone tell me why?"

Everyone looked around in confusion, as if Hagrid of all people should know _why_ – he was the one telling them to do it. Luna's hand, however, had shot up, and Hagrid nodded to her.

"Ashwinder eggs can be eaten whole as a cure for ague, what the Muggles call malaria, or used in... err... Love Potions," Luna trailed off slightly, as if embarrassed at knowing the latter fact. Then, as a distraction, she added, "They're dangerous, too, if they aren't removed."

"Righ'," Hagrid muttered, gruffly. "Usin' them for medicine's all well and good, but yer firs' concern's gettin' them out of yer house before they burn it down. What's the problem here, though?"

Again, Luna's hand rose skyward. After scanning around and finding no other hands raised, Hagrid nodded to her again.

"Ashwinders only lay eggs in the shade, like inside a building. They won't just lay them in the tanks."

"Good girl. I don't really want ter let 'em lay eggs in my hut, so we'll throw a blanket over the tanks. That should be enough shade for 'em. Everybody grab a pair of gloves, an' a blanket between each pair."

Ginny paced over to the pile of equipment by the wall of Hagrid's hut. A stack of blankets was neatly folded, and she took one, before pulling on a pair of dragon skin gloves, and throwing another to Luna, who began to pull them on as Ginny returned.

One by one, Hagrid visited each tank and tapped it, just as he had done last lesson, burning the fire out and causing dust-grey serpents to emerge, sliding through the gathering ash. After watching a single, solitary Ashwinder appear in their tank, Ginny and Luna threw the blanket over it, covering it entirely, and sat down in the grass, watching as Hagrid circled the rest of the tanks, producing no less than three serpents in Seamus and Dean's.

Finally, with all of the tanks filled with Ashwinders and covered with blankets, Hagrid returned to the centre, and began to speak again.

"Now, the trouble with Ashwinders eggs is that they'll catch fire before too long. Keep checkin' yer tanks, and once you see eggs in there, open it up righ' away. Ye need to stun the snake, then just freeze the eggs and put 'em in these jars."

Hagrid waved to the tanks, and for the first time Ginny noticed a small glass jar by the side of their tank. Quietly, the seventh years all set to work, taking it in turns to pull back the blankets, checking for the eggs, which, according to their textbook, were a deep crimson in colour.

Half an hour later, no-one had found anything. Seeing as the Ashwinders only lived for an hour, Ginny was slightly worried, and she wasn't the only one. The next time the students checked, however, both Luna and Dean started with surprise, and beckoned for their partners to join them. Ginny and Seamus sprang up, and padded over to the tanks. As Luna held the corner of the blanket up, Ginny saw half a dozen crimson orbs, glowing lazily inside the tank.

"You stun the snake," Luna murmured, taking hold of the blanket with both hands and pulling it off. The Ashwinder hissed, more out of boredom than anger, as Ginny nodded back to her, and Luna grabbed the handle on the top of the tank. In a quick flourish, she whipped the lid off the top of the tank, and Ginny stepped forward, jabbing her wand into the tank.

"_Immobolus!_" she cried, and the snake stopped, freezing rigidly to the stop. Several of the other seventh years were watching on with interest, as Luna laid the lid down in the grass, and the girls hastily began to pluck the eggs out of the tank. They were hot to the touch, even through the dragon skin gloves, as they took them one at a time, laying them on the plastic lid to avoid setting fire to the grass.

"Alright then," Luna murmured, drawing her own wand. "Ready? _Glacius!_"

A jet of ice cold air erupted from Luna's wand, and tiny droplets of water vapour froze in the air, falling as shimmering slivers of ice. The eggs themselves were bathed in the freezing wind, and seemed to go a pale orange colour as they froze. Two of the eggs were still glowing crimson, so Ginny gave her own mutter of "_Glacius,_" finishing them off.

Luna deftly scooped the six eggs up and dropped them into their jar, before screwing the metal lid on tightly. Ginny replaced the tank's lid, and revived the Ashwinder with a swish of her wand – it stared balefully back at her, and already seemed to be spitting embers as, eggs laid, it neared death. Ginny's stare was only drawn from her own snake by the sound of yelling to her right.

Looking around, she saw Dean diving into the grass, as Seamus blasting the ground with a poorly-aimed charm. It quickly became obvious what had happened – as they opened the lid, Seamus had managed to freeze one of the serpents, but there were three in the tank, and the other two had taken their chance to spring out into the open air with surprising vigour. Dean had managed a rather impressive catch, grabbing one of the Ashwinders as it tried to slither away, and Luna ran off towards Hagrid's hut, following the third snake before neatly hitting it with a charm of her own.

As Luna returned, holding the frozen snake by the tail and looking rather triumphant, Ginny attempted to hit the snake Dean was holding with a Freezing Charm. Before she got a chance, however, the snake appeared to give up on life, deciding to spite its captor on the way out. It exploded in a flurry of ash and embers, and Dean stifled a yell as several glowing sparks stung his forearm. With rivulets of ash still trickling from his fingers, Dean straightened up, brushed himself off, and turned back to the tank.

Luna threw her snake back into the plastic container, still frozen, as she and Ginny helped the two boys shovel the eggs out. With three snakes, they had far more eggs than Ginny and Luna, almost thirty, all in all. The four of them spent the rest of the two-hour lesson freezing eggs and piling them into jam jars (the two boys had so many eggs to store, in fact, that Hagrid had to fetch extra jars). Two by two, the other pairs around the room began to find eggs in their tanks, and set about the same task.

Half an hour before the end of the lesson, everyone had finished. With the clouds getting steadily darker and thicker, Hagrid had conjured a large fire to keep everyone warm as they huddled around it, and a fledgling salamander was pacing around within the flames, having been released by Hagrid for some amusement. Finally, though, the grey clouds burst into rain, and the Hogwarts grounds were quickly blanketed by the deluge.

"Go on, get inside," Hagrid called, and the seventh years didn't need telling twice, as they scattered and headed for the safety of the castle.

* * *

><p>Elsewhere, the rain was the least of Ron's worries. Trails of rainwater were flowing down his arms and back, partly deflected by his dragon skin jacket. His hands, however, were exposed, and shook slightly in the cold. He barely suppressed a shiver, and looked across at Proudfoot, amazed at the other Auror's composure – despite being frozen to the bone by the wind and soaked to the skin by rain, he looked as calm and collected as ever.<p>

"Ready?" Proudfoot muttered, pulling his wand from his belt.

"Ready," Ron replied, keen to get the job over with.

"Okay. Remember, we go in, flush them out, and take them alive if possible."

Ron nodded, pulled his own wand out, and straightened up, as Proudfoot got to his feet next to him. Unlike the Muggle home the Aurors had attacked two days before, today's target looked distinctly wizard-built. Firstly, it was the only house for miles around. Secondly, it was leaning. The wooden shack had been built on the side of a windswept hill in the Yorkshire Dales, and had it not been held up by magic, Ron was sure it would have tumbled down the hillside years ago.

The occupants, the Aurors knew, were Snatchers, a gang of five led by a man named Belgrave. Given that they were only Snatchers, not Death Eaters, just two Aurors had been sent to deal with them.

"On three," Proudfoot muttered, crouching low as he and Ron scrambled up the loose scree of the hillside. "One... two... three."

"_Confringo!_" Ron roared, and he heard Proudfoot yell in unison at his side. Two furiously burning curses erupted from their wands, and whistled through the rain-beaten air, striking the side of the shack. Both Aurors hurled themselves to the ground as the explosions rang out – Ron's curse in particular had been far more violent than he intended, and as he looked up, he saw the very foundations of the house shake precariously.

"Head down!" Proudfoot yelled, pulling Ron down roughly as he attempted to stand up. Before Ron could protest, several stunners had shot out of the house's windows, smashing into the loose scree around them. Proudfoot sent another Blasting Curse at the house, and the near wall exploded with a cataclysmic bang. As shards of timber filled the air, Ron raised his arm.

"_Protego!_" he cried, and an ethereal shield burst into the air over the two Aurors. Several stunners and a splintered chunk of wood bounced away, as the building shook once more, and Ron slipped slightly on the rain-soaked scree.

Then, quite suddenly, the earth seemed to give way. With an almighty groan, and the sound of snapping wood, whatever incantations had been holding the shack up were overpowered. There were screams from the inside of the building, and through the rain, Ron vaguely saw a figure jumping through the ruined near wall to escape, as the walls crumpled, the roof fell in on itself, and the whole building shifted several metres to the side.

The broken timbers were still burning from the Aurors' curses as they slipped away down the hillside, carrying furniture, stones and Snatchers alike.

It was almost a minute before the rumbling stopped. Looking down, Ron saw steam and dust rising from the rubble. Looking up, he saw a dazed Snatcher stumbling towards him, raising his wand. Ron made a panicked attempt to strike with his own wand, but before either of them could cast a spell, Proudfoot had settled the matter for them, hitting the Snatcher squarely in the temple with a Stunning Spell. He toppled unconsciously to the ground, as Ron shot Proudfoot a grateful smile.

With the hillside finally still once more, the two Aurors got to their feet. Proudfoot quickly conjured ropes around the stunned Snatcher's wrists and ankles, before the two set off down the hill, treading carefully on the loose stones as they approached the battered remnants of the house. A few battered figures lay within, and one was staggering out of the wreckage, clutching what appeared to be a broken arm. Quickly and efficiently, the two Aurors picked them off with Stunning Spells, one by one, as the feeble remains of the flames continued to fight defiantly against the driving rain.

Less than an hour later, in the Auror Headquarters, Harry was to be found in his office, staring out of the large window behind his desk. With an almost inaudible flutter, a paper aeroplane, pale-violet in colour, swooped into the room, and fell open on his desk. Harry picked it up, face still set in a tense expression as he read for news of Ron's mission. Sure enough, the note was written in his best friend's messy scrawl:

_Harry,_

_Found Belgrave's Snatchers. The house sort of... blew up. Not our fault, honest. All of the Snatchers are in custody, a few broken bones, but nothing fatal. Department of Law Enforcement's taken them in for trial and questioning. We'll be back in the office this evening, got to go and speak to Magical Accidents & Catastrophes about clearing up the wreckage._

_Ron_

Harry gave a little sigh of relief. Ron and Proudfoot, it seemed, were both all right, and the mission had gone well. He didn't want to _know _what had happened to the house, though...

He cast a quick glance back at the simulated weather outside, and sighed at Magical Maintenance's latest attempt to barter for a pay rise. As he sat down at his desk to write a note to Kingsley, Harry tried his best to ignore the hurricane beating on his window.


	37. Chapter 37: Fruitless Efforts

**A/N: Sorry for the lack of updates, guys. They're going to be a little less frequent for the time being due to A-Level work and so on...  
><strong>

**Chapter 37 - Fruitless Efforts**

"Nothing," Harry muttered, throwing his papers down with a dissatisfied groan.

It had been a week since the destruction of the Snatcher hideout in Yorkshire, and Harry's Aurors had found no leads since then. Harry himself was spending every evening in the office, working late as he combed through every file and report at their disposal, looking for any hint of the missing Death Eaters.

It was a difficult task, that was for sure. A few sympathisers, like Nathaniel Fletcher, had tried to return to their homes and live normal lives as best as possible, somehow not expecting the law to catch up to them. Harry, however, was concerned with the inner circle, the die-hard Death Eaters, many of whom had broken out of Azkaban many months ago, not once but twice, to aid their cause. And of Voldemort's inner circle, there was no trace. The Lestranges, Dolohov, Yaxley, even the double agent Rookwood, all of them had gone to ground, and there was no trace of any of them.

Next door, Harry heard a chair scrape against the floor, and the shuffling sounds of someone gathering their belongings. It had to be Neville – the other Aurors had all departed already. There was a gentle knock on the door, and Neville sidled in.

"How's it going?" he asked, but they both knew the answer before it came.

"Same as it's been going all week," Harry muttered. "No sign of any of them."

"Maybe they've disappeared for good," Neville shrugged.

"That, or they're planning something _really _big," Harry noted sceptically. "I don't know which is worse..."

"Me neither..." Neville trailed off. "Night then."

Neville slid out, shutting the door gently behind himself. Once he was gone, Harry slumped back in his chair, rubbing his aching brow with one hand. The window behind him was filled with inky black calm – Magical Maintenance had backed off after a third night of thunderstorms brought them a storm of hate mail – and the only light came from a magical flame, captured in an ornate jar on the corner of Harry's desk.

With the flickering orange light bathing his face, Harry shut his eyes and sank even lower in his chair. Frankly, he couldn't be bothered with the effort of Flooing home, and he felt too tired and frustrated to Apparate safely. He shifted slightly in his chair, finding a comfortable position, and slowly drifted off to sleep.

* * *

><p>Many miles away, in Hogwarts, Hermione was doing anything <em>but <em>sleep. Like Harry, she had been working late into the nights – if anything, she had been working even later than him, and on a far stranger project.

At present, she was sat cross-legged on the dusty stone floor, as the Room of Requirement shifted and warped around her, still caught in confounding chaos. Hermione had her wand in her hand, and was staring around with increasingly sleepy eyes.

She had given in to curiosity, and had visited the Room of Requirement every night. The marvellous impossibility had become somewhat addictive to her as her visits continued – to someone with such an ordered and logical mind, this chaos was dangerously exciting. Furthermore, in something of a testament to the sheer reasoning power of Hermione's mind, she was starting to make sense of it all. Impossible though it may have been, there were still patterns and rhythms in the room's reactions, and there were threads amongst the chaos that could be caught and re-arranged.

Hermione had barely realised the effects of her visits upon her until Ginny took her aside and pointed them out that morning. She had puffy bags beneath her slightly bloodshot eyes, and the lack of sleep was becoming noticeable in her behaviour – she was extremely clumsy in lessons, and almost fell asleep in their last Defence lesson, while the others were practicing.

Despite all of that, there was something that kept drawing her back, a dim compulsion in the back of her, that was growing into an obsession. For Hermione, her lessons were rather uninteresting – she knew most of the subject matter already, and the only one which offered her any sort of challenge was Potions, which was accompanied by the bumbling annoyance of Professor Slughorn. Fixing the Room of Requirement, however, was a challenge, maybe even an impossible feat. Nonetheless, Hermione thought she was making progress. With each visit, with each thread she wove back into place, she could feel the room growing slightly more harmonious, slightly less furious.

Even as she considered this, she was working, not casting any spell in particular, but feeding her wand with pure, instinctive movements. She was getting far more adept at it – picking up the tiny tremor of each thread, and the intricacies of weaving it back into place amongst the heaving web that occupied the walls of the room.

Taking a quick break, Hermione fell back onto the stone floor, feeling rather exhausted as she tried to assess her work. Whether it had worked or not, she couldn't tell – the room was as chaotic as ever. Ornate pillars were stuck at angles in the walls, half way through trying to emerge, as rogue spells and forgotten objects cascaded from the roof at odd intervals, surrounded by a myriad of quivering stone shards, suspended in nothingness.

Hermione sighed. However immense and difficult the night's work – and the work of every night – had seemed, it had had very little effect. Resignedly, she picked herself up, and made to leave. She needed sleep.

Instants after that thought passed her mind, Hermione heard a troubled moan. She wheeled around in a panic, looking for an intruder, then realised that the noise, like every noise in here, was coming from the room, the pure consciousness that seemed to reverberate within the walls. And then, quite suddenly, she spotted the form emerging from the floor.

It was, unmistakeably, a bed. Hermione gazed around, half-hoping to see some face she could smile at. Whether out of duty or thanks, the room was trying to fulfil her needs. She needed sleep, so it provided a bed. However, it was a bed that looked somewhat unsteady. The room was groaning with the effort of keeping it in existence, and its silhouette flickered as if it might be extinguished at any minute. Hermione didn't fancy the prospect of being extinguished with it.

"_Maybe when you're a bit stronger," _she thought, too tired to even murmur the words out loud. The room heaved, and the bed fragmented. Whizzing shards of ethereal matter were swallowed back into the floor once more, as Hermione swept around, and headed for the door.

* * *

><p>Back in the Ministry of Magic, Harry had barely been asleep for twenty minutes when he was awoken by a loud crashing, which sounded unmistakeably like someone rushing through the huge oak doors of the Auror Headquarters. He drew his wand, and cautiously edged towards the door.<p>

Just as Harry reached out for the handle, the door was thrown wide open, and Harry stopped, moments short of cursing Neville, who was clutching the doorframe and panting heavily. His eyes bulged at the sight of Harry's wandtip, before Harry quickly shoved it back into his pocket.

"What is it?" he muttered, sleepy yet urgent.

"Come quick," Neville panted, waving to the door. "There's been an attack. Diagon Alley."

At these words, Harry stood bolt upright, and made for the door. A moment later, he reconsidered, and ran into his office, grabbing a sheet of pale violet parchment from a tray on his desk and hastily scribbling a note:

_Kingsley,_

_Attack in Diagon Alley. On my way now. Send the Aurors there._

_Harry_

He quickly threw the parchment into the air, and it folded itself into a neat paper aeroplane before shooting out over their heads. Harry quickly grabbed his dragon skin jacket, and was still pulling it on as he and Neville sprinted out into the hallway.

It took them a painfully long time to reach the elevators and return to the Atrium, and still longer to flush themselves out of the front entrance. Finally, with a quick glance of confirmation at Neville, Harry whirled around, and Disapparated on the spot.

When they arrived at Diagon Alley, the immediate sight was not as horrific as Harry had expected. When he heard "attack", he had been expecting something on the scale of Dolohov's assault, a whole street obliterated, or perhaps a building collapsed. Instead, with the moon high in the sky, and the time approaching midnight, they found about a dozen people, huddled at the end of an alleyway, just a few hundred metres from the glistening marble facade of Gringotts. Neville reached the scene first, whipping his wand downwards with a resounding _crack_, which dispersed much of the crowd.

"Can you please stand back?" Neville said, the authority of his voice faded by tiredness. "Who was the first on the scene?"

"Over here," called a man at the edge of the crowd. As the two Aurors looked over, the man pointed to the woman next to him, who he had clearly been comforting. She was hunched over, head in her hands.

"Neville, you take care of her," Harry murmured. Frankly, he thought Neville would do a much better job of being sensitive and caring than he would in his exhausted state.

As Neville moved over to the woman, Harry stepped into the alleyway. The victims were immediately obvious – two bodies lay stone cold in the middle of the alley. Moving slowly over, Harry saw they were a man and a woman, not young, but not quite at middle age, he didn't think. His immediate impression was that there had been no struggle. Neither of them had their wands out, and there were no curse marks on the walls. He was sure, without even hearing the witness statement, that they had been hit with Killing Curses.

"_Lumos Maxima,_" Harry muttered, throwing a white orb of light up to the rooftops, as he heard a vague pop behind him. Turning around, he saw a dishevelled-looking Williamson stumble through the crowd, take one look at the bodies, and then let out a low whistle of surprise.

Over the next fifteen minutes, the other three Aurors appeared – Savage joined Neville in the questioning, and showed a surprisingly tender side, beneath the tough facade she showed during the day. Williamson helped Ron hold off onlookers and a few very determined journalists, while Proudfoot joined Harry in the alley, providing his usual, calculating attitude.

"Wedding rings," he noted, rather sadly, "they must be husband and wife. I'd guess mid-thirties... no curse marks, like you say, and no blood..."

"Killing Curse?" Harry ventured.

"Most likely. There aren't many curses that kill cleanly. Dolohov's curse is one, but I don't think he did this."

"How come?"

"Neither of them had their wand out. If Dolohov had walked up and killed one of them, the other would have at least _tried _to draw their wand and fight back."

"So you think there was more than one attacker?" Harry muttered, as he mulled the question over himself.

"Most likely," Proudfoot replied. "If I had to guess, I'd say two attackers, striking from behind."

"Right," Harry murmured, working things over in his mind. "Get Law Enforcement down here to recover the bodies, and tell Neville to bring the witness back to the Ministry."

An hour later, all six Aurors were back in the hub. Neville had spent half an hour taking a statement from the sole witness, then sent her off to St Mungo's for good measure, as she was clearly in some distress.

"So, we've got the witness statement... what else?" Harry asked the room at large.

"Law Enforcement won't have the autopsy until tomorrow," Proudfoot muttered, "but we don't need a coroner to know it was a Killing Curse."

"What about the victims? Identities, records?"

"Got them here," Williamson nodded. "Thomas and Sarah Foster. Both half-bloods, lived in Suffolk for the last few years."

"Half-bloods?" Savage murmured questioningly. "You think there's a motive there? Blood traitors or something?"

"No connection to any big pureblood families, if that's what you mean," Williamson replied. "It's more likely to be a random attack than anything blood-related."

"What about belongings?" Harry ventured.

"Nothing out of the ordinary," Proudfoot said, "but it doesn't look like anything was taken, either. They both still had full money bags and wands."

"So," Harry muttered hotly, "we've got no motive to speak of, every means under the sun, and no clue who did it?"

"That's... not _quite _true," Neville murmured, somewhat hesitantly.

"What?"

As Harry turned around, he realised he must have seemed far angrier than he really was, because Neville shrank back slightly in apprehension.

"After the witness gave her statement, I showed her a photo, on a hunch. She said the men in the photo were the men she saw tonight..."

"Who?"

Neville didn't respond. Instead, he slid one hand into his pocket, and opened up the folded photo within, before offering it in an outstretched hand. Harry took it cautiously, and looked down at the photo's two occupants.

He was staring into the cold, hooded eyes of Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange.


	38. Chapter 38: On The Hunt

**Chapter 38 - On The Hunt**

The next morning, the Aurors were working overtime. They had all stayed in the office, catching a few hours' sleep in the early morning, then setting to work with renewed vigour from dawn's first light. Ordinarily, such a workload might have raised complaints, but they were on the hunt, and nothing could have compelled Harry more.

He was beginning to realise what made men like Mad-Eye Moody. The same furious passion which he had taken for paranoia in Moody was now present in his own heart, and he knew it as determination. Every one of the six Aurors flitted around the hub, flinging papers to each other and trading in a steady stream of information, anything that might help them track the Lestranges, their motives, and their means.

Around eight o'clock in the morning, Proudfoot came into the office practically bouncing with nervous excitement.

"Potter!" he called, "Just got news from the coroner. No signs of a struggle, he agrees it was probably Killing Curses. There _is _one thing, though..."

"What is it?"

"They both had locks of hair missing."

"Locks of... hair? Are you sure?"

"The coroner's sure, yes. Cut short at the scalp, so it was definitely deliberate."

Harry's mind was racing at this news, and it reached the same conclusion he suspected Proudfoot's had reached when he first heard it.

"Polyjuice Potion?"

"Almost certainly."

Proudfoot's nervous energy seemed to passed into Harry, as he bounced over to the map table, where a smaller map of Diagon Alley had been unrolled and laid across the table's own map.

"Everybody get round!" Harry called. "We need to put all this together!"

In less than sixty seconds, all of the Aurors were huddled around the table, and various parchments had been deposited around the edge, as they pooled all the knowledge they had.

"So, victims," Harry began.

"Thomas and Sarah Foster. Husband and wife, half-bloods, both hit in the back with Killing Curses," Ron replied.

"Suspects?"

"Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange," Neville muttered through gritted teeth. "Identified by our witness, Miss Milner. Former Death Eaters, husband and brother-in-law of Bellatrix. Escaped Azkaban twice, committed members of Voldemort's inner circle. Both involved in the torture of my parents."

There was an awkward silence at the last addition, before Harry continued.

"Location?"

"Diagon Alley," Williamson recited. "Alleyway just outside Gringotts Wizarding Bank. Murderers snuck up behind the two victims and cursed them from behind, probably simultaneously."

"Means?"

"The Killing Curse," Ron said, simply.

"Motive?"

"Random attack," Savage nodded, but there was a pregnant pause, as Harry glanced in Proudfoot's direction.

"No..." the other Auror said, shaking his head and biting his lip slightly. "Random _target_."

Savage was staring at him as if to say _"What's the difference?"_, as were Ron and Williamson, but Harry shared a knowing glance with Proudfoot, and the light of understanding was passing over Neville's face.

"The Fosters were in the wrong place at the wrong time," Harry nodded. "But the attack itself was definitely deliberate."

"Thomas and Sarah Foster both had locks of hair cut out," Proudfoot explained. "Which means the Lestranges were probably planning to use Polyjuice Potion. But according to our witness, she wandered across the scene and started screaming the place down, at which point Rodolphus and Rabastan ran for it."

"Why did they run?" Ron mused. "They could have just cursed her, too..."

"Not after she screamed," Neville said, picking up Proudfoot's trail. "Once she screamed, the plan was ruined."

"Exactly," Harry said, the cogs still turning in his mind. "They needed to do it without being discovered. Kill the first people to stumble into sight, hide the bodies, then take their identity, for whatever purpose. Rodolphus and Rabastan didn't have time to hide the bodies before Milner rumbled them. Once she screamed, people came running, so the only thing the Lestranges could do was run for it and leave the bodies..."

"So the disguise is ruined," Proudfoot summed up. "If the Fosters _were _to appear, we'd know who they really were. That means the Lestranges will need to try again, or come up with a new plan. Now, Rabastan might be a bit of a thug, but Rodolphus is smart, _very _smart. By now, he'll know that _we _know what he was planning. He won't be dumb enough to try the same trick twice."

"Which means he'll need a new scheme," Harry murmured.

"Exactly. We can't tell what that scheme will be..."

"...so we need to find out what he's after, right?" Ron said, finishing Proudfoot's sentence for him.

All eyes turned to Ron as he finished speaking.

"What? It's obvious, right?" he scowled, somewhat defensively.

"Indeed," Proudfoot nodded. "The means don't matter if we take away the ends. And the ends, I think, are rather obvious..."

Silently, Proudfoot slid out his wand and tapped the open map of Diagon Alley. A bright red cross was daubed over the site of the murder, but Proudfoot's wand was pointing, not to the cross, but to a label half an inch away, written in neat, black letters.

"Gringotts..." Harry breathed.

"If, as may very well be the case, the Lestranges are looking for something, there is only one place to which they would have entrusted it," Proudfoot reasoned.

"Their vault," Harry nodded. He now knew exactly what Rodolphus had been planning – he, Ron and Hermione had done it themselves just months ago. To take Polyjuice Potion, sneak into the bank on the pretence of visiting the Fosters' vault, and then journey to their own.

"They were going to break into Gringotts?" Ron mouthed. "They'd have to be mad to try that!"

"Ron, _you _broke into Gringotts, remember?" Neville said, sardonically.

"Oh, right," Ron muttered, sheepishly. Harry, however, wasn't listening. His mind was processing the latest developments, and working out a plan of action.

"We need to move, quickly. Neville, come with me to Gringotts, we need to see if the 'Fosters' have come calling already. The rest of you, head to Lestrange Manor."

"Lestrange Manor's been abandoned for months, Harry," Williamson muttered. "Ever since the end of the war."

"Exactly. Scout it out, see if the brothers were dumb enough to hide there. If not, we can search the place. They might have left behind journals, diaries, something that could tell us what they're after."

"You heard the man," Savage nodded. "Grab some gear, and let's move out..."

* * *

><p>Half an hour later, Ron was creeping through the skeletal grounds of Lestrange Manor with Savage, while Proudfoot and Williamson snuck up the other side. All four Aurors were well equipped – their wands had been supplemented with Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder, some white-runed stones Ron didn't recognise, Muggle knives, and in Savage's case, a full-length katana.<p>

"Let's move," Savage murmured, and, still crouched low, the two Aurors passed through the shadow of a dying willow, approaching the distinctly gothic house that lay before them.

"Where's our entrance?" Ron asked, surveying the house. The front doors would probably be sealed, bolted and jinxed a dozen times over, which ruled them out.

"Corner window," Savage whispered. "Ben and Liam are going to break through the servant's entrance around the back."

Ron was sure he had misheard, but sure enough, Savage paced to the corner of the building, to a tall, lead-framed window. She quickly waved her wand across the frame, looking for jinxes, then drew back.

"_Expulso._"

The window shattered instantly, spraying a stream of glass and lead into the room beyond. The frame had been neatly ripped away, leaving no shards of broken glass around the window's edge, and Savage sprung through without the slightest trouble. Cautiously, Ron followed her, pulling out his own wand and vaulting over the stone sill.

The grounds had been an unkempt, slightly overgrown mess. The house's interior, however, was barren, reminding Ron of Malfoy Manor, or maybe Grimmauld Place, but with every vestige of decoration removed. Paintings had been stripped from the walls, ornaments had been removed from the shelves, and everything, from ceiling to floor, was covered in varying depths of dust.

Cautiously, the two Aurors moved along the hallway, wands levelled ahead of them. Savage pushed the next door open, and they passed into the empty frame of what had apparently once been a kitchen. The stove was as dusty as everything else in the house, and the room had been stripped of almost every distinguishing feature. Even the hooks which might once have held ladles or other utensils now stood bare.

"I don't like this..." Savage murmured. "This place hasn't been abandoned, it's been _cleared out_..."

The next room was just the same – a study with barren bookshelves, and not so much as a sheet of parchment left in the room. There were pale squares in the dust of the walls, where paintings had obviously been removed, and the drawers of the ornate desk were conspicuously empty.

Somewhere in the house's depths, a muffled bang sounded. Savage squeaked in surprise, and Ron bit his lip to stop himself yelling, before straightening up.

"That'll be Williamson and Proudfoot," he muttered. "They like to make an entrance."

"Yeah... yeah..." Savage whispered, still looking rather startled. "Bastards."

From the study, they passed into a cavernous lounge. Again, the bookshelves around the edge had been stripped of all knowledge, and the glass-fronted cabinets in one corner, though shut, were empty of all their contents. A number of lounge chairs were circled around an ornate, wrought-iron mantelpiece, and they were all covered in half an inch of dust. Nonetheless, Savage was showing an intense interest.

"Look at this!" she hissed.

"What, more dust?" Ron scowled, walking over to her without enthusiasm.

"No, you idiot... the fire's fresh!"

At that, Ron started. It was far beyond his own detective skills to work that one out.

"How d'you figure that one?"

"There's fresh soot, and the charcoal's still hot. This has been burning in the last few hours..."

Before Ron could make any conclusions from that information, there was a thump against the door, and the sound of someone fiddling with the handle. Ron looked at Savage, whose eyes were bulging. Whoever the person on the other side of the door was, he was keeping quiet...

"What do we do?" Ron mouthed, his first instinct being to hide, and ambush them.

"Leave it to me," Savage breathed in response. She padded slowly towards the door, and reached for the sheath around her waist. Ron _had _thought it rather odd of her to bring a katana along, but he was grateful now, as she held it in an outstretched palm, looking rather like a jungle tribesman with a fishing spear. She kept sneaking forward until she was about two metres from the door, then lunged, hurling the blade straight into the door. To Ron's amazement, and Savage's pride, it sank straight through the wood into the hallway beyond.

"OW!" came the cry from the other side of the door, and Savage froze. Moments later, the two Aurors heard the odd sound of metal snapping, and the door was kicked open.

Williamson threw the severed half of the katana to the ground contemptuously as he entered, and wiped a trickle of blood from the gash on his cheek.

"_Why_," he hissed, "did you have to bring a _sword_?"

"For self defence, why d'you think!" Savage responded.

"You're a _witch! _You can use _magic!_" her irate comrade yelled, and for a moment Ron had to suppress a chuckle as he thought of Hermione in their first year, when faced with the Devil's Snare.

"Bloody hell, Ben," Savage muttered, as she walked over to the door and pulled the shattered handle out of the wood. "That was one of my best swords!"

"My heart _bleeds _for you," Williamson scowled, as he pressed one hand to his bleeding cheek.

Moments later, Proudfoot came running into the room, wand out and ready, evidently drawn by the yells.

"What happened?" he said, then spotted Williamson's bleeding cheek, and Savage still holding the two broken halves of her sword, and sighed resignedly.

"What kind of witch carries a _sword_?" Williamson moaned, as if begging Proudfoot to take his side.

"What kind of idiot sneaks up on Annabelle?" Proudfoot replied, sardonically. Behind his back, Savage stuck her tongue out at Williamson, and he scowled. "I'm sure she'll kiss it better for you."

Proudfoot flashed a sarcastic smile at the pair, and began to pace across the room. Ron failed to notice both Williamson and Savage reddening slightly.

"What's the situation, then?" Proudfoot murmured.

"The whole place has been cleared out," Savage muttered, then added, "recently. The fire's been used less than a day ago."

"They probably cleared out this morning," Williamson reasoned, still nursing his cheek. "As soon as they knew we were on to them, they legged it. They would have realised this is the first place we'd check."

"And whatever they were after," Proudfoot nodded, "they probably removed all records on it. All the books are gone, so we can't search those, and we can't ask the portraits what they overheard because _they're _gone, too."

"So this was all a waste of time, then?" Savage scowled, as Williamson nodded sarcastic agreement behind her. "Better hope Harry found something at Gringotts..."

* * *

><p>At Gringotts, Harry was less worried about finding something, and more worried about keeping his limbs intact. After all, the last time he had visited Gringotts he had broken in, and then stolen one of their guard dragons.<p>

As something of a security measure, he had delayed the investigation slightly, in order to ask Bill to join them. Bill often said that goblins just cared how much gold you made them as an employee, and as Bill made _a lot _of gold for them, Harry felt much safer having him with them to negotiate.

The great marble hall of Gringotts bore no signs of the war's events. The destruction the dragon had wrought was entirely repaired, as was any sign that a war had even passed the place. As they approached, Bill led them to a clerk in the far corner, and rasped something to him in Gobbledegook, presumably a greeting. The goblin muttered back, then jerked his head towards Harry and Neville, and jabbering again. Bill answered the question for them:

"They're Aurors. We've got some questions to ask you..."

"Questions?" the goblin scowled, reverting to English. He had a wizened, rather intelligent-looking face, and little tufts of silver hair. As Harry stepped forward, the goblin leaned over the stack of Sickles he had been counting, and pushed his round-rimmed glasses further up his nose as he gave Harry an appraising stare.

"I suppose you know..." Harry began, testing the waters with a delicate tone. "That a couple were murdered outside Gringotts last night?"

"Yes, we heard," the goblin said, tersely. "Nasty business."

"Indeed... we believe the murderers' eventual aim was to break into Gringotts."

"Impossible."

"Possible," Harry said, so firmly that he must have appeared suspicious. "It can be done, with Polyjuice Potion."

"Talking from experience, Mr Potter?" the goblin smiled, and Harry's stomach dropped. So they _did _know. They'd never help now.

"Well...I..."

"What do you wish to know?" asked the goblin, sounding rather impatient, but still co-operating, much to Harry's surprise.

"Err... well," Harry stammered, trying to re-gather his escaping thoughts. "We need to know if the victims visited Gringotts at all last night."

"Or, indeed, if the _murderers _visited in disguise."

"Exactly."

"Names?"

"Thomas and Sarah Foster."

The goblin slipped down off his stool and disappeared somewhere behind the counters. Harry supposed he must have looked confused, because Bill leant over to offer his explanation.

"They keep records of every visit, he'll have gone to check them," Bill muttered, and Harry nodded in understanding.

After a few minutes, the goblin returned, and jumped back up onto his stool.

"Neither Thomas nor Sarah Foster reached Gringotts last night. Their vault was last opened three months ago."

"Right, so they haven't visited... what about the murderers? Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange?"

"No," the goblin muttered, visibly stiffening at the sound of the names. "Neither of those two... _Death Eaters_" – he spat the words – "have been allowed into this bank. Unless they were in disguise, they have not entered here, and at any rate, their vault has not been accessed since Shacklebolt transferred its contents."

"Good, good... out of curiosity, though... what _would _you do if the Lestranges showed up?"

"If they appeared in their own guise, they would be killed," the goblin rasped, rather tensely. "We suffered more indignities under the Death Eaters than any previous rule. Their claims have been nullified."

"Their claims have been nullified?" Harry repeated, in confusion.

"Gringotts vaults pass by birthright, unless overridden by a will," Bill interjected. "They pass along the male line."

"Correct," the goblin nodded. "In this case, the vault, number seven-hundred and fifty-one, was in possession of Rodolphus Lestrange, not his wife Bellatrix, although she frequently used it. Rodolphus' claim has since been nullified, as has that of his brother Rabastan, the next male in line."

"So, after those two... who's next?" Harry asked.

"After them, ownership might have passed to Bellatrix, were she not nullified too... not to mention dead. Thusly, the male line is followed back into Bellatrix's family, the Blacks. Her cousins Sirius and Regulus are deceased, and her elder sister's husband is both deceased and disowned by the family... which leaves only her brother-in-law..."

"You're kidding," Harry gaped.

"Why, who is it?" Neville asked, in some confusion, as the goblin gave them an eerie smile.

"Mr Lucius Malfoy."


	39. Chapter 39: The Malfoys

**Chapter 39 - The Malfoys**

"I see your problem, Harry," Kingsley mused, leaning back in his chair.

"Yeah..." Harry trailed off. "The only way we can stop the Lestranges getting into their vault is to get the next owner on our side, but the next owner is _Malfoy_. He'll never work with us."

"I think you'd be surprised, Harry," Kingsley murmured. "The man is very keen to avoid Azkaban. And he is even keener for his wife and son to avoid it..."

Harry leant back in his own chair, taking it all in. Kingsley's office was perfect for _considering _things. It reminded him of Dumbledore's office, back in Hogwarts – the desk and walls were gilt with golden spirals and patterns, and the shelves held many strange brass instruments which whirred and hummed, seeming to generate a tranquil calm. Even Kingsley's eagle owl, which sat on a perch beside his desk, was utterly quiet.

"We might have something in common there, then..." Harry muttered. "I can't say I'm too keen to see Narcissa go to Azkaban, not after she saved my life. And Draco... I don't know..."

"It may be possible to have them pardoned," Kingsley said. "Your testimony alone would certainly save Narcissa – she was never a branded Death Eater, her only crime is association by blood and marriage. The fact that she saved your life would sway most of the Wizengamot..."

"What about Lucius? And Draco?"

"Lucius... I cannot promise anything there. He may win favour by naming names, but there is very little I can do to acquit the man – he was in too deep. As for Draco... it would be hard, but possible, I think. Dumbledore planned his own _murder _to save the boy's soul, I think we should try to honour it by keeping him free."

"How, though?" Harry wondered. He was utterly shocked to find himself _defending _Draco Malfoy, but it just felt like the right thing to do.

"I never got the impression, and neither did Dumbledore, that Draco was a Death Eater purely by his own choice. If he permits, a Pensieve could show that sufficiently. Besides, he is just a boy. The Wizengamot is not so heartless as to have no pity on him."

"So we're really going to do it?" Harry said, sounding rather uncertain of himself. "I never thought I'd be _helping _Malfoy..."

Kingsley chuckled at that, and motioned silently to the door as he stood up.

The pair descended to the courtrooms in silence, both mulling over the task ahead of them. When they finally stepped out of the elevator, Harry got the impression of a place filled with tense activity. The court was currently in session, and muffled voices echoed from within. Kingsley, however, wasn't heading for the courtroom. He turned off to the left, and led Harry along another, equally dark corridor, at the end of which was a simple, unornamented door. He pushed it open, and stepped inside, waving for Harry to follow.

The room was rather dimly lit, and the first thing Kingsley did upon entering was flick his wand at the torches around the walls, prompting them to flare brightly, and burn with renewed vigour.

There were four other occupants in the room as they entered – at the small, square table in the centre of the room sat Lucius Malfoy, looking haggard, tired and angry. By the far wall stood Narcissa, looking unusually weary and nervous, not her usual austere self, and next to her stood Draco. It was Draco who drew Harry's eye. The confident, self-assured boy he had known had been steadily eroded over the last two years – the young man stood before him now looked defeated, and rather feeble. Most of all, though, where his father and mother looked rather worried and scared, Draco looked resolutely determined, even now, doomed as he seemed to be.

The last occupant was Williamson, standing resolutely by the door as a guard. The long day seemed to be wearing on him now, just as it was wearing on Harry. He looked ever-so-slightly sullen, and occasionally reached up to nurse his jaw.

As Kingsley swept in, followed by Harry, Lucius Malfoy met them with the coldest of glares. Narcissa and Draco avoided their eyes, but the Malfoy patriarch seemed determined to look sullen and angry, despite the obvious fear showing through. Kingsley met the glare without a trace of anger, and spoke with the utmost civility.

"Ben, could you leave us please? Narcissa, Draco, you too."

Williamson looked with surprise at Kingsley, as did Draco and Narcissa, but after a few moments they all decided to go with it, and made for the door, as Lucius' anger turned into a quizzical, almost questioning expression.

Kingsley sat down in the chair opposite him, while Harry hovered next to the door, feeling it was best to let the Minister get on with whatever he had planned. Almost three minutes passed in awkward silence, before Lucius finally spoke.

"Well?" he croaked, rather hoarsely.

"Well," Kingsley murmured.

Another minute passed in silence, as Harry watched in curiosity.

"Shacklebolt, if you're going to keep me here, you might at least ask some bloody questions!" Lucius spat.

"My dear Lucius, I already know all I need to know. I don't need to ask why you're guilty. You, however, should be telling me why you are innocent."

Lucius Malfoy looked rather taken aback at this, but a light of understanding seemed to pass through his grey eyes. He gave Kingsley an appraising stare, then began to talk.

"In case you hadn't noticed, _Minister_, we didn't fight with the Death Eaters."

"_We_, Lucius?" Kingsley said, eyebrow raised. "I'm talking about _you_, here, not your family."

"They are one and the same, Shacklebolt. I'm guilty, no jury in the land could dispute that. But I will _not_ see my wife and child dragged through Azkaban for my mistakes," Lucius growled. Kingsley, however, was smiling.

"And _that_, Lucius, is exactly what I wanted to hear," Kingsley murmured, shooting a knowing glance at Harry. "You should know, then, that Mr Potter here intends to make sure neither of them go to Azkaban."

That caught Harry by surprise – it was true, but he hadn't expected Kingsley to say it.

"Potter?" Lucius growled, looking up at Harry. "Why would he? He hates us..."

"Your wife saved my _life_, Lucius," Harry scowled, fighting the urge to go and punch Lucius. Here he was offering to save them, and Lucius was acting like the git he'd always been. "And there are people I hate a lot more than you."

"Oh? Do explain," Lucius murmured, rather sardonically.

"I doubt you are aware," Kingsley interjected, "that due to certain events, you now hold claim to the vault of the Lestrange family."

"Really? I got a letter from goblins, several weeks ago, but I tore it up - I thought it was another death threat..." Lucius' eyebrows had risen skyward at the news, and Harry was sure he could see gold crossing Malfoy's mind.

"The vault has been emptied," Kingsley said quickly. "But it still has value to us, due to its previous owners."

"Rodolphus and Rabastan? I haven't had contact with them, if that's what you think!" Lucius blurted out, going slightly red. "I didn't even know they'd left it to me!"

"Please listen, Mr Malfoy," Kingsley said, extending a calming hand. "That was _not _my implication. The vault passed by blood ties, not a will. No, the value of that vault is that Rodolphus and Rabastan still believe it to be full, and are searching for a certain item among its contents."

"They've tried to reach it once," Harry added. "The next time, we think they might try to enter it legitimately, through you. Which gives you... or rather, us... a perfect opportunity to trap them."

Understanding dawned over Lucius' pale face, and he shot Harry a shrewd, calculating stare.

"That's the deal? I help you trap them, you pardon my family?"

"No," Kingsley replied, firmly. "I already told you, Lucius, this is about _you_. Mr Potter will see to it that your wife and son are pardoned no matter what you choose to do. The only freedom in this deal is yours. Help us with this, and I will do my utmost to persuade the Wizengamot not to convict you."

"I see..." Lucius whispered, and Harry could see a dozen different emotions flickering behind his eyes. "Please leave me for a moment, Minister, Potter..."

Kingsley bowed his head, stood up, and wordlessly left the room, with Harry following close behind. As they emerged into the dark corridor outside the interview room, they saw Williamson leaning against the wall on one side, while Narcissa and Draco stood nervously on the opposite side. As Kingsley and Harry emerged, Narcissa shot them a worried glance.

"Your husband is considering what we have said," Kingsley murmured, in his usual serene tone. "He needs some time."

As Kingsley spoke, Williamson shot Harry a glance that said, all too clearly, _"Did he agree?"_. Harry merely shrugged in response, and Williamson rolled his eyes.

They were waiting for some time, before, finally, the interview room door opened with a slight creak, and Lucius Malfoy emerged, grey eyes shining with something Harry hadn't seen in them in a long time – conviction.

"Minister... I have made my decision," he murmured.

* * *

><p>"I don't like this," Ron muttered. "Working with Malfoy, it just doesn't feel... right."<p>

"You've got to put rivalries aside, Weasley," Proudfoot sighed.

"Hate to admit it, but Proudfoot's right," Savage added. "Pureblood gits they may be, but we need them if we're going to stop the Lestranges..."

The three Aurors were sat by the great fountain in the Ministry's atrium, having returned from Lestrange Manor an hour before. Ron was please to note that the "Might is Magic" statue had been damaged in the retaking of the Ministry – in fact, he suspected the Order had deliberately made sure a few Blasting Curses hit it – and a new golden fountain was half-built in its place.

"I guess... but if Draco makes _one _more joke about my family..." Ron growled.

"If he does, you can borrow one of my swords. That'll scare the little git," Savage chuckled.

"Will you two be quiet," Proudfoot hissed, with a henceforth absent note of caution in his voice.

"What's up with you, Proudfo-mmph!" Savage didn't get to finish her question, for Proudfoot had pressed a hand over her mouth, silencing her. When she finally broke free, she coughed slightly, and glared at him, but stayed silent.

"Does that look suspicious to you?" Proudfoot murmured, finally breaking his silence and pointing towards the great Floo gates at the far end of the atrium. It took Ron a moment to find who he was talking about, but once he spotted them, they were instantly obvious. Two figures, hooded, were stood beside one of the Floo fires, talking conspiratorially to another figure, a tall, green-robed wizard with wind-swept brown hair. After a further thirty seconds, the green-robed wizard turned and left, sweeping away across the atrium. Ron's eyes followed him for a moment too long, because when he looked back to the fire, the two hooded figures were gone.

"Dunno..." Ron whispered. "They might have been up to something."

"Gee, you think?" Savage hissed sarcastically.

"Stay here," Proudfoot said, with a hint of warning in his voice. "I'll check him out. You two keep hidden, that way you can surprise him if need be..."

Ron watched tensely as Proudfoot stood up, transferred his wand from his pocket to his sleeve, and set off across the atrium. The green-robed man was still pacing across the atrium floor, bearing down on the elevators at the far end of the cavernous hall. As Proudfoot stopped tailing the man and stepped out in front of him, Ron saw, out of the corner of his eye, an elevator rising into place. Amongst the occupants he spotted Harry, Kingsley, Williamson and the Malfoys, and something made him reach for his wand, almost subconsciously. He heard Savage shift to his right, and knew she had drawn her wand too, feeling the same suspicions.

They had been distracted just long enough that the red flash of light caught them by surprise. Ron's head wheeled back to the suspicious man, just in time to see Proudfoot crumple to the ground, hit point-blank by the man's stunner.

Almost instantly, Ron was on his feet, as was Savage. Both Aurors set off at a sprint, fighting through the panicked crowd as the green-robed man move onward. They reached Proudfoot's fallen form before they reached the suspect, and Ron skidded to a halt, turning his wand towards his fellow Auror.

"_Rennervate!_"

Proudfoot spluttered back into consciousness. He stared dumbly at Ron for a few seconds, then his eyes bulged, as if a crucial task had just popped into his memory.

"Imperius," he croaked, almost incoherently.

"What?" Ron asked, paralysed for a moment by dumb curiosity.

"He's Imperiused!" Proudfoot shouted, and this time Ron's mind caught the full meaning. He turned, to see the green-robed man approaching the elevators, the nearest of which slid open just as Savage raised her wand to the man's back.

"_Avada Kedavra!_"

"_Stupefy!_"

There were two bright flashes, one red, one green, and a bevy of screams from passers-by. The loudest scream came from the elevator, and Ron had the horrible impression he saw a body slump to the floor. A split-second later, Savage's stunner crashed into the unwilling killer's back, catapulting him several feet across the floor, where he fell in oblivious unconsciousness.

Ron's heart was still pounding as he caught up to Savage, nearly slipping over on the polished floor. Screams still filled the atrium, and sure enough, there was a body on the floor inside the elevator. Ron's first priority was to check for his friends – he knew he should be ashamed of wishing death on someone else, but frankly, his first concern _was _for Harry, Kingsley and Williamson. Fortunately, they were all still standing – Harry and Williamson were both bellowing for the crowd to move back, and emerged with wands drawn. Kingsley looked far more serene – he seemed to sense that the danger had passed, as quickly as it had come.

Finally, Ron's eyes fell across the Malfoys. Draco stumbled out of the elevator, looking shell-shocked. Narcissa, however, remained stationary on the floor, unmoving as she cradled her husband. Ron didn't have to look to know that Lucius Malfoy's silver eyes were now glazed over, colder even than in life, and never to open again...


	40. Chapter 40: A New Plan

**Chapter 40 - A New Plan  
><strong>

Lucius Malfoy's funeral was a tiny affair, conducted in the grounds of Malfoy Manor a week after his death. Reviled by both sides of the war, Lucius' remaining friends had all either cut ties with him or been sent to Azkaban. The only mourners by his graveside were his wife and son. Narcissa had sobbed over his grave, and walked off, blurry-eyed, as Harry approached. Only Draco was left, staring out into a grove of skeletal willow trees. He barely acknowledged Harry as he stood next to him.

"Malfoy," Harry murmured.

"Potter," Draco muttered back. "Come to dance on his grave?"

"No," Harry said, firmly.

There was an awkward, pregnant pause, before Malfoy spoke again, choosing his question very deliberately.

"Who did it?"

"Malfoy, you were _there_, you saw who did it."

"Not him. He was Imperiused, I know that... Who made him do it?"

"I don't know," Harry lied.

"Potter, you think I didn't hear you and Weasley? 'It was them', 'They're onto us'... Who are _they_, Potter?"

"Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange," Harry answered, letting the names hang on the wind.

"Because he was a traitor?" Draco asked, and Harry got the impression he had a rather large lump in his throat as he spoke

"Partly."

"Partly?" Draco repeated, finally turning to face Harry. "Why else, then?"

"Because he had something they needed... their vault."

Much to Harry's surprise, Draco wasn't shocked – or if he was, he didn't show it. Instead, he shut his eyes, and took a deep breath, as if taking in a sudden revelation, or a tricky thought.

"He got a letter from Gringotts, a few weeks ago. That's what that was, was it?"

"Exactly. He was the extant male, according to the goblins. He took ownership of the vault when Rodolphus and Rabastan were annulled."

"And if he was the extant male," Draco murmured, the cogs clearly turning in his mind. "That means I own it now, doesn't it? _That's _why you came, isn't it Potter?"

"Yes. I need your help, Draco."

That _did_ shock Draco. He stared at Harry for a few seconds, and Harry suspected he was suppressing a victorious smirk.

"Sorry? _You_ need _my _help? The Great Harry Potter needs _my _help?"

"For God's sake, Malfoy, you're the only one who calls me 'The Great Harry Potter', and you know it. Now stop being a smug git and listen to me for a minute!"

"Well, this should be interesting..." Malfoy drawled. For a moment the old, horribly self-assured Malfoy was creeping through, beating the humbled, post-war Malfoy into submission.

"They came after your father because they knew he was the vault's owner, Draco. Rodolphus isn't stupid, he _knows _the vault passes to you next. That means he'll try to get to it through you, one way or another. He might try and coerce you, or he might just attack you and your mother for the sake of it. Hell, you're traitors anyway, as far as he's concerned. I can help."

Draco's eyes had narrowed at the mention of his mother, but at least he seemed to be listening now.

"You want to help us? That's a new one..."

"Shut up, Malfoy. My testimony's the only reason you and your mother aren't rotting in Azkaban," Harry growled, not caring that Malfoy's eyes narrowed to angry slits as he spoke. "And yes, I want to help."

"I'm listening," Malfoy said, still glaring very suspiciously at Harry.

"I've already gotten the two of you out of Azkaban," Harry repeated. "I can have your mother – and yourself, if you want – put under our surveillance. If anyone so much as casts a jinx near you, the Aurors will respond. In the long term, with your help... well, I think we can stop Rodolphus and Rabastan. Permanently."

The discussion had the feeling of a long, painful political negotiation, but Harry got the impression Draco was finally starting to soften. _"About time, too," _he thought, as the rain began to spatter down around them. Draco turned away from him, staring out into the willow grove once more, and sweeping back his pale blond hair with one hand as the rain began to drench it. Finally, he spoke again, over his shoulder.

"Revenge sounds good... so does protection. I'll help you, Potter, but I want you to swear two things. Firstly, you _promise _no harm will come to my mother."

"Of course, you have my word," Harry nodded, unduly surprised that Draco's first concern was his mother. "And the second?"

"When we find Rodolphus, and Rabastan," Draco hissed, turning once more to face Harry. "They die for what they've done."

* * *

><p>Back in Hogwarts, Ginny's only contact with Harry's machinations was the Daily Prophet. His letters were few and far between, and there were many things he couldn't tell her, for the sake of security, so she had come to rely on the headlines to keep up with events.<p>

Understandably, the Prophet had practically exploded upon Lucius Malfoy's death. The murder of such a controversial character, in the heart of the Ministry, no less, was what most reporters would call a "field day". The last week's front pages had all been filled with the details of the murder. Monday had borne the actual news of the murder; Tuesday had brought "exclusive, breaking news" on the identity of the murderer, an unfortunate Imperius victim by the name of Boone; Wednesday had seen Kingsley fiercely defending the Ministry's security in an "exclusive interview"; Thursday had featured the ongoing debate of whether Lucius was good guy or bad (almost invariably settling on bad), and today, Friday, had shown the sombre images of Lucius' grave.

In Hogwarts, public opinion was surprisingly favourable. Whatever people thought of Lucius Malfoy (or Draco, for that matter), no-one felt he was deserving of his fate. Ginny, though, had extra reason to be disturbed. Everyone had read, in the Prophet's pages, the exact details of the murder, and Ginny had been distraught to hear that Harry was just feet away from Lucius when the curse hit. While most people were first concerned with sympathy for the Malfoys, Ginny's first thought had been how close Harry had come to being hit...

Sombre though she was, she carried on, and at any rate, she was far more concerned about her two best friends. Hermione was looking more exhausted than ever, and it had come to a head in their last Charms lesson when, while practising the Bedazzling Hex, she had accidentally turned Seamus invisible. It had taken ten minutes for Professor Flitwick to find and fix him, and Ginny had since become increasingly aware of Hermione's baggy eyes and pale face.

Luna, too, seemed to be in the depths of depression. No matter how much Ginny tried to gently persuade her, she still hadn't spoken to her father, and was refusing to do so just as resolutely as she had back in the summer. To make matters worse, she and Neville had split up – there had been no formal declaration, they had just sort of... drifted apart. All in all, Luna looked lonelier than ever, isolating herself and spending her evenings in her dormitory, despite numerous invitations from Ginny and the others to spend the evenings with them, in Gryffindor Tower.

"If Harry's not careful, he's going to be in big trouble," Hermione muttered, distracting Ginny from her thoughts. "First the Fosters, now Malfoy... two murders in a week, one of them in the middle of the Ministry, and no killers caught for either..."

"Well, technically they _did_ catch Malfoy's killer," Ginny pointed out.

"Okay, but not the _real _killer. That poor man was just a puppet," Hermione murmured. "I'm worried for Harry's sake... I do hope he's got something planned..."

* * *

><p>Little did Hermione know, Harry most certainly <em>did <em>have something planned, and he was explaining it at that very moment.

It was an odd assembly to which he spoke. The Aurors were gathered around the hub's map table, but they were joined by the serene figure of Kingsley, the rather awkward-looking figure of Draco Malfoy, and the _very_ strange-looking contingent from Gringotts, consisting of Bill Weasley and two goblins, one of whom was the one Harry had spoken to about the Lestranges.

"So, Potter, what's the plan?" Malfoy drawled.

"Well, we need to track down the Lestranges, first of all," Harry began. "We don't have a clue what they're planning, but we _do _know what they want to achieve."

"To break into their vault," Williamson nodded.

"Exactly. There's only one way they could do it without force, which is through the new owner. That means we'll be relying on Draco quite heavily," Harry continued. Bill and Ron both scowled at the last part, as did Draco himself. "You'll need to go to the Lestranges, and offer to sneak them in."

Here, his words were met by dumbfounded silence. Malfoy stared at him in amazement and contempt.

"Are you utterly _stupid_, Potter?" he exclaimed. "They killed my father, why wouldn't they just kill me too?"

"Because they need you," Harry reasoned, patiently. "You offer to get them into the vault, in exchange for them leaving you and your mother alone. They'll accept the deal so they can get into the vault, even if they intend to double-cross you afterwards."

"Alright... so I offer to smuggle them in," Malfoy nodded. "Then what?"

"Then you smuggle them in," Harry said, simply. Here, it was the goblins' turn to object.

"Smuggle Death Eaters into Gringotts?" one of them huffed. "We could never allow it!"

"Even to trap them?" smiled the other goblin, the one Harry had spoken to before. His fellow fell silent, looking contemplative, as Bill spoke up.

"He's got a point," the Weasley brother grinned. "Once Draco takes them down to the vault, they won't be able to get back up by themselves. Besides, the vault's empty, Kingsley already cleared it."

"Exactly," Harry agreed, "but Rodolphus and Rabastan don't know that. All we need is a few Aurors hiding in the vault, and we can spring the trap as soon as the Lestranges arrive..."

"And even if they overpower us," Williamson muttered grimly, "they'll be trapped down there at our mercy."

"Not a bad plan, Potter," Proudfoot murmured. "Not a bad plan at all..."

"The question is..." Harry concluded, "Will you help us, Malfoy?"

All eyes turned from Harry to Draco, who looked contemplative. He was staring very deliberately at Harry, as if weighing up just how much he was willing to trust him. Finally, he bit his pale lips apprehensively, and nodded.

"I'll do it."


	41. Chapter 41: A Moment of Levity

**Chapter 41 - A Moment of Levity**

A few days after the Aurors' plan was hatched, Harry was to be found at his desk, reading two letters from very different areas of his life.

The first, addressed in emerald-green, spider-like writing, was from Draco Malfoy. It had arrived by eagle owl the previous night, and had been waiting for Harry on his desk when he arrived in the morning. The other was a slightly messier scrawl, with wide, irregular curves, which he had instantly recognised as Ginny's writing. That had been delivered just after he reached the office, by a barn owl he vaguely recognised from the Hogwarts owlery.

After a few moments' deliberation, Harry had decided to open Draco's letter first, realising that a business letter, sent in the dead of night, was quite likely to be important, whereas Ginny's was not. He opened up the parchment, and began to read:

_Potter,_

_Met with the Lestranges. They agreed, but I imagine they're just waiting to double cross me. For the time being, though, I'm in. Am at their safehouse for now. When they decide to break into Gringotts, I'll send word._

_Draco Malfoy_

Short though it was, the message filled Harry's head with a cocktail of joyful adrenaline. The plan had worked, for now at least. His first thought was to let the others know – he stood up, leaving Ginny's unopened letter abandoned on the desk, and swept through into the hub.

Williamson and Savage were deep in conversation over one file, while Neville, Ron and Proudfoot were all to be found at their desks, peering over more information. As Harry entered, however, pulling the office door shut behind himself to draw their attention, all eyes rose to him.

"Malfoy's in," Harry grinned. "It's just a matter of time now."

* * *

><p>In Hogwarts, Ginny was unconcerned with the Aurors' plot – she was totally oblivious to it, in truth. That morning, while Harry was busying himself with the Lestranges, she was partaking in the far less stressful process of selecting a Gryffindor Quidditch team. In fact, she had just <em>finished <em>selecting a Gryffindor Quidditch team, and was heading back to the common room with Seamus and Dean after their first practice.

"So," she murmured, trying to memorise the newly-written Gryffindor team sheet for the tenth time. "Let's go over this again..."

"Again?" Seamus sighed, but Dean stopped him mid-complaint.

"We're up front with Demelza as Chasers," Dean said. "Jimmy Peakes and Ritchie Coote are our Beaters. That fourth year King's our new Keeper..."

"And I'm playing Seeker again," Ginny finished. She wasn't entirely happy about playing Seeker – she would have much preferred to be playing as a Chaser with Seamus and Dean – but with Harry gone, she was the only player who could fly anywhere near as well as him.

The three Gryffindors lapsed into silence as they climbed the staircase towards the common room. Ginny in particular was cold and rather muddy, and all too aware that they hadn't even reached breakfast yet.

As they stepped into the common room, scattering a few splashes of mud onto the clean floor, they were greeted by an all-too familiar sight. As several of the younger Gryffindors flitted around, anxious not to be late for breakfast, Hermione was once more sprawled out in an armchair by the fire, just as she had been every morning for the last week.

"We'll leave you to it," Dean muttered, shooting Ginny a knowing glance and nudging Seamus towards the dormitory stairs. As the two boys disappeared, Ginny threw her sodden Quidditch robes to the floor, and sat down in the chair opposite Hermione, feeling the heat of the fire creep through the t-shirt she had been wearing under her robes.

It was a further ten minutes before Hermione awoke, bleary-eyed, and caught sight of Ginny, opposite her. Ginny had half expected her to rise into a panic, perhaps worrying that she was late for Potions, but she seemed too tired even to do that.

"What time is it?" she murmured, wearily.

"Eight o'clock," Ginny replied, patiently. "We just finished Quidditch practice."

Hermione didn't reply. She just nodded weakly, and her eyes began to creep shut again.

"Go to bed, Hermione," Ginny said, trying her best – but failing – to imitate her mother's more caring tones. "You look exhausted."

"Can't do that..." Hermione mumbled. "We've got Charms this morning..."

"I'm pretty sure Seamus doesn't want to disappear again," Ginny muttered. "Now go to bed, or I'll knock you out myself..."

It had come out rather harsher than Ginny had intended, but the threat seemed to work. Hermione nodded dazedly, got clumsily to her feet, and staggered off towards the dormitory stairs. Five minutes later, when Ginny retired to the dormitories to change, she found Hermione fast asleep on her bed, wrapped in a messy bundle of blankets.

Shaking her head and chuckling slightly to herself, Ginny quickly changed into a clean set of black robes and headed back down to the common room, making sure to lock the dormitory door behind her.

Hermione's behaviour had been odd, to say the least, and the excuse of "patrol duty" was starting to wear thin – Ginny doubted that even Hermione would take her job as Head Girl _that _seriously. Hermione, however, was keeping quiet, and was always either too tired or too stubborn to answer Ginny's questions about where she was going at night... Finally, Ginny resolved to go to the owlery later, and write a letter to Harry for advice. In the meantime, though, her stomach was growling, and she gladly set off to breakfast.

* * *

><p>Back in the office, Harry was finally settling down at his desk once more. He had spent the last hour checking up on the Aurors, and informing Kingsley of Draco's success. Now, he at last had chance to gather his thoughts. He began absent-mindedly rummaging through the clutter on his desk, finally finding the hastily-written letter beneath a heap of internal memos. He prised the letter open, and started to read, a calm smile passing over his features as he did.<p>

_Dear Harry,_

_Hope you're well, it's starting to get cold up here in Hogwarts – I'd much rather be back in France! We've been busy sorting out the Quidditch team over here. Seamus and Dean both volunteered to help, but it's going to be weird seeing a Gryffindor team without you in it... I might need to ask you for some advice, if you don't mind. What do you think to Seamus, Dean and Demelza as Chasers? Peakes and Coote as Beaters, too?_

_Quidditch aside, things are a bit quiet... Luna's still upset about Neville, how's he doing? And Hermione's exhausted, working herself too hard I'll bet. Lessons aren't too bad, though – we're still teaching ourselves Defence, and Care of Magical Creatures is a laugh... _

_How are things going at the Auror Office? We heard about the attack in the Prophet – thank God you're okay! Are you anywhere near catching the Lestranges? Ah, you probably can't say, can you? Either way, good luck, and please don't get yourself hurt._

_Missing you,_

_Ginny_

_PS. Our first Quidditch match is on December 1st... yes, that was a hint..._

By the time Harry finished reading the letter, a contented smile had spread over his face. In between the manic pursuits of his work, he usually found himself missing Ginny, and any sort of contact was most welcome. He laid the letter down on the corner of his desk, and reached across for a fresh sheet of parchment and a quill.

He had barely dipped the quill-tip into his inkpot before his attention was drawn away, by a cacophonic crash in the next room. Yet again, his letterwork was discarded in a heap on the desk, and he was in the hub in less than thirty seconds, wand drawn and ready.

Ron too had darted to the doors, knocked wide open by the new arrival, who had lost his balance and tumbled to the floor. Only as the figure looked up did Harry realise they were pointing their wands at Draco Malfoy.

As the two Aurors lowered their wands, Malfoy got to his feet, pushing a wisp of silvery-blonde hair out of his eyes. His pale white face was flushed with colour, and his eyes were alert, pupils focused to tiny pin-pricks as he looked for Harry. Finding him, he wheeled around and tried to speak, still out of breath – Harry got the impression he had run all the way from the Atrium.

"Potter... Lestranges left... left the safehouse..."

"They're robbing the bank?" Harry gasped, not quite registering in his mind at the time that they would have needed Malfoy _with _them to rob the bank.

"No... said... said they were going to make a kill," Malfoy spluttered, still rather breathless. "I Apparated here... as soon as they left..."

"A kill?" Ron muttered, with a dark frown. "Did they say where?"

Malfoy nodded slightly, catching his breath for a few moments before he finally answered.

"Ottery St Catchpole..."

Ron went white as a sheet, and Harry felt his stomach lurch. For once, however, he didn't find himself panicking. In fact, he found himself possessed of an utterly unusual clarity, and turned to survey the Auror Office.

Savage and Williamson were both out of the office guarding Malfoy Manor, and Proudfoot was at Gringotts – the goblins had taken a liking to his business-like manner, so Harry sent him with Bill to do most of the negotiations. That just left Harry, Ron, and Neville, who was still at his desk, looking up with an apprehensive gaze.

"Neville!" Harry barked, rather more sharply than he had intended. "Go and tell Kingsley what's happened, then fetch Proudfoot and bring him along!"

Neville nodded, and sprang up from his desk before darting out of the doors. Harry turned to Ron and Malfoy, as he continued.

"Draco, get back to the safehouse before they realise where you've gone. Ron, come with me!"

Harry didn't even wait for Malfoy to leave before he headed for the doors, with Ron following close behind. As they passed through the great oak doors, there was a resounding crack, and Harry knew that Draco had just vanished.

The two of them sprinted through the Ministry, ignoring the funny looks and frantic tutting that accompanied them, until they reached the Atrium.

Within five minutes, they had Flooed out of the Ministry, and were standing amongst the rolling hills of Devon. Harry's first impression was of the incredible expanse of green around him, carpeting the surroundings for as far as he could see. Moments later, however, he became aware of the expanse of green, not around him, but _above _him.

Staring up into the heavens, and knowing Ron was doing the same, Harry felt his stomach drop to the bottom of his boots. A leering skull, complete with a serpentine tongue, was billowing out of emerald-green clouds.

For the first time since the end of the war, the Dark Mark filled the sky.


	42. Chapter 42: A Black Day

**A/N: This is probably the chapter die-hard fans will object to most... you have been warned. Also, the titles aren't being underlined because FanFiction's document manager is being stupidly annoying. So there.**

**Chapter 42 - A Black Day**

Hogwarts had never appeared so daunting to Harry, not even during the dark night of the Battle of Hogwarts. Even then, it had been a fortress, a bastion of hope and protection. Now, however, it was a truly scary prospect to be passing through Hogwarts' gates. Even the skies above, though free of emerald skulls, were dark grey and stormy, ever-reflective of his mood.

He had sent word ahead, of course, and wasn't at all surprised to see Professor McGonagall waiting for him on the steps. Her eyes were slightly red, and even as he approached, she dabbed at them with a worn handkerchief. The headmistress didn't seem to have any words, for she stayed silent, ushered Harry inside, and shut the great doors of the entrance hall against the storm.

Harry exchanged a knowing look with Professor McGonagall – she sighed, and looked at her feet.

"The Charms classroom, Potter," she murmured, in response to his unspoken question.

Without any further discussion, Harry set off for the Charms classroom – he didn't want to talk about what he had to do, he just wanted to do it. The prospect seemed a little less daunting as he denied it, but it was daunting nonetheless – a friend lay dead, and now he had to break the news to their poor child...

The climb to the Charms corridor seemed to take forever, but finally, he reached the simple, unornamented door to Flitwick's classroom, and pushed it open.

The seventh-year Gryffindors and Ravenclaws were arrayed across the classroom, listening to the diminutive Charms Professor, when Harry entered. As he stepped inside, all eyes turned to him – he saw Seamus' head drop from its resting place on his hand and clatter noisily against the desk in surprise, as Ginny smiled warmly at him. His own face was set – he had a feeling Ginny wouldn't be smiling so much if she knew why he was here.

"Mr Potter?" Flitwick squeaked, looking part excited, part apprehensive.

"Hello, Professor," Harry murmured, trying deliberately not to look at his friends' smiling faces. He was so pre-occupied in ignoring them, he didn't even notice Hermione's absence.

"What can I do for you?" the Professor murmured, still staring cautiously at Harry's stormy-eyed countenance. Harry swallowed a considerable lump in his throat, and answered.

"Could I borrow Miss Lovegood?"

The silence in the room was deafening – those who had been expecting a friendly visit had now begun to realise that something more serious was afoot. Professor Flitwick nodded anxiously, and Harry turned to see Luna slide out from behind her desk, and walk nervously towards him. Harry waved towards the door, and held it open, feeling worse than ever, as he ushered her outside.

They walked in silence for a few minutes, climbing to the floor above (with Harry stunning a few over-inquisitive portraits on the way) and finally slipping into an abandoned classroom. Harry spent another silent minute lighting the abandoned candlesticks with his wand, and then realised he couldn't delay the news any longer. He sat down on the edge of the desk, swept his messy hair out of his eyes, and motioned for Luna to take a seat.

"Harry, what is it?" she murmured, pulling up a battered wooden chair and sitting earnestly opposite him.

"Luna, I'm not quite sure how to tell you this," Harry began. "But this morning, a pair of Death Eaters came to Ottery St Catchpole."

Luna's eyes bulged at that, and for the first, horrible moment, she began to realise what Harry was saying.

"There was a skirmish," Harry continued, picking up pace in his desire to get it over and done with. "Your home was attacked... I'm afraid..."

Harry choked slightly – however much he wanted to, he didn't have the heart to tell her. Luna, however, seemed to have worked it out.

"My dad... is he hurt?" she said, sounding rather more panicky than before.

"He was wounded," Harry replied, shutting his eyes very tightly, "I'm afraid he passed away before we could save him..."

When he opened his eyes, Harry saw Luna rocking backwards and forwards slightly in her chair. She was staring blankly past him to the far wall, and her eyes had unfocused slightly. Harry was sure he was imagining it, but there seemed to be a crackling sense of electricity in the air.

He opened his mouth, perhaps to reassure her, or perhaps to ask if she was okay, but the words never came. Before he got a chance to speak, he was slammed backwards by a wall of white light, and an echoing _bang!_ Harry heard a crunch, and felt his body thud against the stone wall of the classroom, before he slid to the floor, and the blinding silver-white faded into blackness as his senses abandoned him.

* * *

><p>"They really did a number on this place," Proudfoot muttered, shaking his head. Stood next to him, Ron surveyed the wreckage with a rather disgusted expression.<p>

The Lovegood house appeared to have been hit by a small tornado. The small patch of plants that passed for a garden had been reduced to a heap of smouldering ashes by fire, and the house itself had been knocked to the ground. Flecks of mortar and masonry were scattered throughout the grass, and the great piles of stone were occasionally punctuated by a broken chunk of timber, the very bones of the house, now lying smashed and battered amidst the rubble. Possessions were scattered hither and thither, with only a few surviving the charring flames.

Xenophilius Lovegood had been removed from the chaos by the Aurors. His body lay peacefully to one side, covered in a white shroud which even now was becoming stained by drying blood. Ron wished fervently that he could described his death as quick and painless, but that would have been lying... Xenophilius appeared to have been stabbed twice with a blade, then hit with several curses and left for dead amidst the collapsing ruins of his home. The thought of dying like that, quite frankly, made Ron shudder.

"I wonder how Harry's doing," Williamson muttered. He had been called in from Malfoy Manor, leaving Savage alone to guard Narcissa. "I wouldn't like to be in his shoes..."

Ron nodded absent-mindedly. Half of his focus was on Harry, pitying him for the task of breaking such news to a friend. The other half was on Neville, who was sat a little way away from the other Aurors, staring blankly into space...

"Come on," Ron muttered, trying to sound decisive, like Harry. "We need to clear this up and get onto evidence, while the trail's warm..."

* * *

><p>"Mr Potter? Mr Potter?"<p>

As Harry's eyes opened, he was greeted by the still-panicked face of Professor Flitwick. The stout little man was standing over him, flanked by Professor McGonagall, who looked shaky, and Madame Pomfrey, who was holding a strong-smelling concoction under his nose. He spluttered back into life, and they all quickly backed away, staring at him in mild apprehension.

"What happened?" he coughed.

"We were hoping to ask _you_," Professor McGonagall muttered. "Professor Flitwick heard a loud bang and came running. We presumed Miss Lovegood suffered from some... accidental outburst..."

"Accidental magic?" Harry replied, scowling. "That'd be impressive if it wasn't so painful."

"I presume," McGonagall continued, "that you told her about her father?"

"Yes," Harry said, nodding. "One moment she was silent, then, well...bang."

"Bang..." Flitwick whispered, and it took Harry a moment to realise that he actually sounded _impressed_.

He had every right to be impressed with Luna's magic, Harry realised. He had been so preoccupied with his own situation he had failed to notice the rest of the room. The chairs and desks had been thrown to all corners of the room, upended or even reduced to firewood, the windows were cracked from the centre outwards, and the door to the corridor outside was hanging limply from a single hinge. Accidental or not, Luna's spell had been exceptionally powerful.

"Where's Luna?" Harry asked, as he realised she wasn't present.

"The poor girl's in the hospital wing, out cold," Madame Pomfrey sighed. "She was in enough shock already, but casting a spell like that, even accidentally... utterly drained."

"I suppose she'll need to go home when she awakes?" Professor McGonagall interjected, and Harry considered it for the first time.

"There's no home for her to go _to_," he said. "The whole place was destroyed... I don't suppose she'd agree to go to the Burrow, either... knowing Luna, she'll just try to carry on as normal."

"Well _that_," Madame Pomfrey blustered, "is out of the question."

"Agreed," Harry nodded, finally picking himself up off the floor. "I need to get back to the Ministry and sort things out... send me an owl when she wakes up."

"Of course, Harry," Professor McGonagall murmured. "Good luck."

Without another word, Harry swept out of the room. In a way, he was glad it had gone this way – the physical pain was nothing compared to the emotional turmoil he had expected when he set out to break the news...

Half an hour later, Harry was back in familiar surroundings – it was tremendously surprising to him, that he could ever have reached a stage where _Hogwarts _wasn't a familiar home to him. Back in the Auror Office, he was surrounded by all of his team except Savage, who was still on guard duty, and they had been joined by a rather grave-looking Kingsley.

"Any clues?" Harry said, rather futilely.

"What clues could we need?" Williamson muttered. "We know who did it."

"Granted," Harry sighed. Thanks to Malfoy, they had known the murderers _before _the murder. "But why?"

"Could be any number of reasons," Proudfoot shrugged. "Xenophilius wasn't a Death Eater, but he met them, which means he probably knew names, just like Lucius did... or, it might have been a message, a warning even. Either way, he's dead, and it's not of much importance why they did it because we know what they're planning next, and we're ready to catch them..."

Thus far, Kingsley had been watching with a grave and sombre air. Just as he was about to open his mouth, however, a loud hoot cut him off. Harry turned to see a now-familiar grey eagle owl swooping through the open doors, much to the consternation of a few Ministry employees in the corridor outside. It hovered across the room, and came to a neat stop on Harry's shoulder, offering its leg. Harry made a hastily apology to the others, and prised the little note from the owl's leg. He quickly unfurled it, as the owl watched on, seemingly unwilling to leave until he had finished reading.

_Potter,_

_Writing this in secret – don't let the owl return, or they'll know. They've made arrangements to leave the country in the early morning. Just one last thing to do. It's tonight._

_Draco Malfoy_

Harry didn't have to ask who "they" were, or indeed what "it" referred to. His heart barely dared to beat as he read the note, then began to pound furiously once he had finished. He curled up the note, slipped it into his pocket, and returned to the table with the owl still perched intently on his shoulder.

"The Prophet's going to have a field day over Xenophilius' death," Kingsley muttered, as Harry rejoined the conversation.

"Not if I can help it," Harry interjected. "Tonight... tonight we're going to catch the Lestranges."


	43. Chapter 43: The Plan Comes Together

**Chapter 43 - The Plan Comes Together  
><strong>

For the rest of the day, the Aurors busied themselves in a bout of feverish activity. Savage was recalled from Malfoy Manor for a few hours to help the preparations, replaced at her post by a pair of Hit-Wizards from Magical Law Enforcement. They ate briefly in the early afternoon, then spent the remaining hours of the afternoon and evening arming themselves and planning for the arrest.

Harry worked with a feverish conviction, and for once in his life he could easily say he agreed with Draco Malfoy. Whatever mercy had been left for the Lestranges in his mind was gone now. The dead face of Xenophilius Lovegood was imprinted on his mind, as was the living face of Luna, and he was set on one fact, one sole objective: tonight, the Lestranges would die.

Finally, at six o'clock, the Aurors gathered around their map table to take stock, and make their final preparations.

"Right... is everyone ready?"

"Ready, chief," Williamson muttered, wand in hand. "What's the plan?"

"The Lestranges are going to break in tonight. We can assume they'll be invisible, or disguised, but either way we'll know them because Malfoy will be with them. We'll be waiting in the vault. How many invisibility cloaks do we have in the storeroom?"

"Just two," Savage muttered.

"With mine, that makes three," Harry said, pondering things. "That means only three of us can be in the vault..."

"I'm in," Ron said, quickly. "You're not leaving me out of this one."

"Me too," Neville added, firmly, and no-one had to ask why. There was a fire burning in Neville's eyes that Harry had never seen before.

"That's that settled, then," Harry nodded. "The three of us will go to the vault. Proudfoot, you'll shut us in, and make sure the goblins are all prepared for the plan."

"What about us?" Williamson asked, motioning to himself and Savage.

"You'll wait behind the counters with Proudfoot, once he's finished. You can't be invisible, but you can at least hide in the entrance hall. Once Malfoy and the Lestranges set off for the vaults, you can seal off the entrance."

Everyone nodded, taking in the plan. There were no more words to say, not really. They had been planning this for weeks, and there was nothing more to be discussed...

* * *

><p>Draco Malfoy was feeling just as tense as the Aurors, if not more so, as he slid through the streets of London. He was all too aware of the two shrouded figures behind him. On his left was Rodolphus, oily and sly, with a never-ending air of calculation and mistrust. On his right was Rabastan, shaven-headed, blunt-tongued, and still with his wand in his hand, as if itching for a fight. It was an odd thought that less than a year ago, men like this had been his comrades. Now, he was sick at the thought...<p>

The end of the alleyway approached, and the marble spires of Gringotts began to loom over the encircling rooftops.

"Put your cloaks on," he hissed, and heard the unmistakeable _swish _of cloth being thrown over heads. He turned around, and his two unwelcome companions were nowhere to be seen.

"We're ready... now get on with it, boy," came the terse whisper of Rodolphus, as Draco stepped out of the alley, and approached the great bank's steps.

With every step, his fear grew that they were about to be discovered, that some passer-by would stumble into his invisible accomplices, or that he was about to be cursed and left for dead on the great marble stairs.

They made it inside, however, without incident, and Malfoy proceeded towards the counter the Aurors had planned him to, trying for all the world to make the choice seem natural, not deliberate – after all, almost every other counter was empty, so why should he have chosen that one?

As he approached, he exchanged a steely, knowing glance with the goblin attendant – the same shrewd-faced individual Potter had dealt with before. Behind the goblin, in the very corner of his vision, Malfoy saw a flash of blonde hair, and knew that the Auror Savage had just dived out of sight. Fervently praying that neither of the Lestranges had seen her, Draco began to talk.

"Vault seven-hundred and fifty-one," he muttered. The goblin played his part well, showing the tiniest flicker of surprise to mask his familiarity with the plan.

"That vault has just changed hands, sir," the goblin rasped, "am I to presume you are...?"

"Draco Malfoy, yes," he replied, with a note of tension in his voice. Luckily, he knew the Lestranges would take that tension as a symptom of their own plan, not the Aurors'.

"Of course, sir," the attendant nodded. "Right this way..."

With that, the goblin disappeared, re-appearing further down the hall and leading Draco towards the great doors at the far end of the hall. As they mounted the mine-cart that would take them to the vault, Draco's apprehension grew, even more so as he felt two hidden figures clamber into place behind him. He prayed fervently that Potter was ready...

* * *

><p>Potter was indeed ready. Less than an hour before, Proudfoot and Bill Weasley had shut the great vault door behind them, and the three Aurors were left in pitch darkness to wait. Harry had his own cloak pulled tightly around him as he crouched in the corner, wand in hand. He had taken particular care, even in the dark, that his feet should be fully covered by the sweeping folds. The plan would be utterly ruined if the Lestranges arrived to find a pair of disembodied shoes in the corner...<p>

Minutes passed, and seemed to lapse into hours in Harry's head, although he knew that was hardly likely. Finally, though, he heard the slightest hint of muffled voices, resonating through the metal door, and then, a heavy creaking. Bolts began to whir aside, and the tiniest sliver of light peered into the room. Moments later, the door slid open fully, and a single figure stepped into the room, though Harry knew that two more were following him.

"Here we are..." Draco murmured, and Harry wasn't sure whether he was announcing their presence to the Lestranges, or to the Aurors. He couldn't help noticing the goblin attendant making a break for the mine cart, and beating a hasty retreat. Then, quite suddenly, a cloak was swept downwards, and a furious face appeared, followed by its accompanying body. Rodolphus Lestrange was glaring angrily around him at the empty vault, as his brother too cast off his cloak. Finally, the brothers turned to Malfoy.

"What is the _meaning_ of this?" Rodolphus snarled. "You tricked us!"

"Oh yes..." Malfoy muttered. Before either brother could answer, he reached for his belt, taking even Harry by surprise as he drew his wand, and a silver-bladed dagger. The wand rose to Rodolphus' chest, and he was send flying by a non-verbal Knockback Jinx. A moment later, Malfoy whirled around, and Harry saw silver flash across Rabastan's jaw line, scattering crimson blood across the floor and causing Rabastan himself to collapse to the ground with a roar of pain.

The element of surprise, however, was quickly lost. Even as Malfoy readied himself to strike again with the knife, Rodolphus was back on his feet, and a growled curse sent Draco reeling. Harry seized his chance, ripping his cloak off and hurling it aside – on the opposite side of the vault, Neville and Ron both appeared from thin air, wands ready.

It took Rodolphus a few moments to realise he was under attack by not one enemy, but four. Once he did, however, he set to work with surprising vigour. Harry had to duck to avoid a well-aimed crimson curse, and a moment later, Ron barely deflected a Reductor Curse, which ricocheted off and exploded against the stone ceiling, scattering small chips of rock over their heads.

"_Serpensortia!_"Malfoy cried, finally getting back to his feet. A jet-black viper sprung at Rodolphus' neck, only to be knocked away by a blow from his fist, nonetheless managing to sink a fang into his knuckles.

Unfortunately, Rabastan Lestrange was on his feet too. The dagger had fallen tantalisingly close to his throat, but Malfoy had failed to strike the killing blow. Rabastan's jaw and neck were streaked in pulsing crimson blood, but he was still very much alive, and the pain, if anything, made him even more formidable.

"_Incendio!_" the big man roared, and a jet of flame narrowly missed Malfoy, crashing down a few metres from Harry and somehow causing flames to spring up from the _stone _floor.

The fight quickly broke down into two duels – Rodolphus swung around to face Neville and Ron, cutting them off from Harry and Draco, who were contending with the berserk Rabastan. Harry spent so much time dodging Rabastan's curses, he was unable to keep up with the other half of the fight - nonetheless, Rabastan was unable to finish them off. The enraged Death Eater was constantly bombarding them with curses, but the pain was throwing his aim off, and most of his attacks shot harmlessly past to the far wall.

"_Confringo!_"

"_Protego!_"

This time, Rabastan's curse was on target, but Harry's shield sprang into life just in time. A wave of heat slammed across his face, but the curse itself exploded harmlessly in the air in front of him. While Rabastan was distracted, Malfoy sprang forward.

"_Crucio!_" he screamed, and a jet of red light sprang to Rabastan's chest.

The Cruciatus Curse, Harry knew, could only be performed if you really _meant _it. And Malfoy definitely meant it. In a matter of seconds, Rabastan had been reduced to a writhing heap on the floor, wand discarded, limbs flailing madly. Malfoy was advancing on him, and Harry was inclined to leave him to it – he himself turned to check on Rodolphus.

Just as he did so, he heard a resounding crack. There was a bright flash and a burst of translucent smoke, and Neville and Ron both staggered back. A moment later, Rodolphus lunged forward.

"_Expulso!_"

In an instant, the air became a maelstrom of flying stone and whistling energy. A great chunk had been torn out of the floor, and Neville was hurled backwards, having taken the full brunt of the curse. Ron, a few feet away, was knocked sideways, but didn't appear to have been anywhere near as badly hit. Harry tried to yell, but it was muffled, as if Rodolphus' curse had sucked the very air from the vault.

To his left, Malfoy had been staggered – his concentration broken, his curse had fallen away from Rabastan, and the Death Eater was back on his feet. While Draco tried to regain his balance, the big man delivered a heavy kick to his midriff, sending him reeling. Harry, however, couldn't help – Rodolphus had whirled around, and Harry had to dive aside to avoid a glistening black curse.

"Ron, get him out!" Harry bellowed, nodding at Neville's prone and now unconscious form. Ron himself was bleeding from the temple, and didn't even attempt to protest, rushing over to Neville and slinging him over his shoulder. While Harry was distracted, Rodolphus sprang forward again, with another cry of "_Expulso!_"

Harry's hands seemed to act of their own accord – as he watched on, he sent the curse spiralling away with a perfectly-placed Shield Charm. A jet of flame and a roar of "_Incendio!_" from behind his head told Harry that Rabastan and Draco were still fighting, just feet away.

Quite suddenly, and much to his surprise, Harry found himself back to back with Draco Malfoy, as the Auror fought Rodolphus Lestrange, and his old rival fought Rabastan. Curses were flying thick and fast, and Harry was hard-pressed to even tell whose they were, but nonetheless he kept fighting, ducking and parrying every shot of Rodolphus' and sending a few of his own at the Death Eater. Just as he landed a hit on Rodolphus, crying "_Sectumsempra!_" and slashing his opponent's arm viciously, he felt Draco's back press against his.

"Switch!" Draco hissed, and Harry knew what he meant without asking. In a single, fluid movement, the two span around each other, still back to back, and Harry caught a glimpse of Draco, wielding not his wand but his knife as he leapt at Rodolphus.

As he came face to face with Rabastan, Harry saw the big man's eyes bulge, and knew instantly what the distraction was. He too had heard the bloody squelch of a blade in flesh, swiftly followed by the sound of footsteps on the stone floor, perhaps advancing on a wounded foe...

There was a brilliant flash of emerald light from behind Harry, and Rabastan let out a strangled growl. In his anger, he forgot his wand and swung out a single hefty fist – the attack was so unprecedented that Harry didn't counter it, and was sent crashing to the floor as the punch connected with his temple. He rolled over instinctively, and instantly took in the scene from this new angle – Rodolphus lay still on the floor, and Harry was perfectly certain that he was dead. Rabastan swung his wand at Draco with lethal intent, but had only managed "_Avada-_" before Malfoy sent him flying with a flick of his own wand.

Rabastan landed a few feet away, and Draco hesitated, looking over to Harry. Quickly, he picked himself up, wand ready to finish the fight, but Rabastan had already managed to utter an incantation. Both Harry and Draco watched, aghast, as serpentine flames began to erupt from their foe's wand. Rabastan, however, was as wide-eyed as them, struggling to concentrate through the intense pain of his bloody wound, and within seconds of the initial lapse, the Fiendfyre was swelling far beyond his intentions...

As a fiery chimaera detached itself from the blaze and sprang at their heads, Harry and Draco reached a silent agreement. They ducked beneath the screaming flame-beast, and sprinted for the door. Ron was just beyond it, watching, wide-eyed.

"Shut the door!" Harry roared, and it took Ron a few moments to catch on. Then, he lunged for the great vault door, wrapped his arms around the handle, and began to haul against it even before Harry and Draco were out.

After what seemed like an eternity, they reached the now-closing gap, just a few feet wide, as Ron struggled to _stop _the door shutting. Draco, just ahead of Harry, slid sideways through the door and collapsed almost instantly on the floor of the corridor outside. In desperation, Harry lunged – he felt the metal edge of the door gently nudge his ribs as he sailed through the air, then slammed to the ground. Turning over, he caught one last glimpse of Rabastan Lestrange, frenzied and struggling against his own erupting wand amidst the growing inferno, before the vault door slid shut with an echoing _thump_.

Ron slowly slid down the door's surface, and ended up slumped against it, eyes shut, breathing heavily. Harry and Draco were still collapsed on the floor, and Neville was unconscious against the far wall. An all-pervading silence filled the air, for which Harry was grateful – the solid door at least silenced Rabastan's screams from inside the vault, as the very fires he had conjured now consumed him...


	44. Chapter 44: Onward, Hunters

**Chapter 44 - Onward, Hunters**

It was a grim sort of celebration back at the Ministry that night. The Aurors, joined by Draco, were clustered around the map table with a bottle of Firewhiskey. Two of them, however, were absent; Neville was in St Mungo's, and Harry was at his side.

It felt strange to Ron, toasting victory with one of their number so badly wounded, but he knew from long experience that optimism was the only way forward in times like these.

"This ought to cheer you up," Savage muttered, sounding thoroughly unconvinced as she poured him a glass of Firewhiskey, and proceeded to hand them out to the others. Finally, once everyone had a drink in hand, she took the bottle for herself.

"Thirsty?" Williamson mused, staring at the half-full bottle in her hand. Savage merely scowled at him, and raised it high.

"A toast..." she said. "To the hunt!"

"To the hunt..." Ron muttered, as the others followed suit. Finally, he tipped the glass back, and poured the whiskey down his throat, enjoying the sensation of fiery warmth that came with it.

"So, what now?" Williamson asked, setting his glass down.

"I would presume..." Proudfoot mused, "that we will carry on as we did before. Until another lead presents itself..."

"Aye!" Savage spluttered, having drained the bottle surprisingly quickly. "Onwards, hunters, to the next bit of prey!"

"Are you drunk already?"

"Don't be ridiculous..."

* * *

><p>In St Mungo's, Harry was just as sombre as Ron, if not more so, and would have given almost anything for a whiskey to ease the pain. He had just left the Spell Damage Ward, and was talking earnestly with one of the Healers, a stout little witch who had insisted on leaving Neville's bedside before talking about him, even though he was still unconscious and thus unable to hear them...<p>

"So he'll be okay?" Harry muttered, nervously.

"It depends on your definition," the Healer replied, almost deliberately cryptically.

"Oh come on," Harry snapped, rather heatedly. "Will he live? Will he be able to have a normal life? You know what I mean!"

"Yes, he will live," she murmured, patiently. "And I daresay he will be able to live a normal life. Life as an Auror, however, is hardly normal..."

"What are you saying? He might not be able to stay as an Auror?"

"Quite possibly not... even ignoring the rather considerable impact on his nerves, which will pass with time, there is the damage to his eye, which I daresay will not..."

Harry had to admit, she had a point. Even from here, he could see the ugly red scarring across Neville's right eye, and he knew from experience that curse wounds like that couldn't be healed by magic... the lightning bolt on his forehead was evidence enough of that.

"How long do you think he'll need to be here?"

"He should be conscious again by tomorrow, but it will be at least a week before he's well enough to leave..."

"Thank you. Please, send word when he wakes up."

"Of course, sir."

With that, Harry ducked through the doorway that led out of the ward, and Disapparated with a feint, whirling _pop_.

When he reappeared, he was looking once more at the looming spires of Hogwarts. The stormy clouds that had hovered over the castle that morning were gone, and as he walked, Hogsmeade was just beginning to be blanketed by snow. He pulled his jacket up around his shoulders and neck, and walked resolutely towards the boar-flanked gates to Hogwarts.

As he made his way up the sloping path through Hogwarts' grounds, Harry was acutely aware that, even on a dark evening like this, he was attracting attention. A few stragglers who were returning from the grounds cast incredulous looks in his direction, and he could have sworn he saw frantic pointing and gesturing from a late class in the Astronomy Tower. Nonetheless, he ignored them, and was soon stepping into the great entrance hall for the second time that day.

Slowly but deliberately, he wound his way through the school, ignoring the curious looks he received, or occasionally nodding to an old friend as he passed. He could make a social call later – for now, he had other things on his mind.

He reached the entrance to the Headmistress' Office just in time – as he approached from one end of the corridor, Professor McGonagall was coming from the other. She started with surprise at the sight of him, and shot him a rather owlish, quizzical look.

"Mr Potter? What on _earth _are you doing here? If it's about Miss Lovegood, I'm afraid she still hasn't-" Harry held up a hand, and McGonagall fell silent.

"It's not about Luna. Can we talk? Inside?" he asked, sounding rather weary.

"Of course, of course," the Professor muttered. "Albus Dumbledore."

Harry was bemused for a moment, until he realised she was talking to the stone gargoyle that guarded the entrance to her office. It bowed meekly away, and the pair of them stepped inside.

The office really hadn't changed much since Harry had last been in it. Fawkes' golden perch was gone, as were a few of the more impossible artefacts Dumbledore had collected, but the great desk still sat in the centre of the room, and the walls were still occupied by the encircling ring of Headmasters and Headmistresses. As Harry entered, most of them fell silent, apart from a few hushed whispers in the furthest corners.

"Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange are dead," he said, suddenly, and a babble of chatter broke out from the portraits, before he continued, "the news will be all over the Prophet tomorrow, which means it'll be all over the school. I thought you deserved some warning..."

"Dead?" McGonagall spluttered, going wide-eyed. "I presume your Aurors were involved?"

Harry nodded – and was it just his imagination, or was Dumbledore looking at him with an expression of intense scrutiny?

"How?" McGonagall continued.

"We cornered them, in one of the Gringotts vaults," Harry sighed. He wasn't quite sure why he was pouring forth all these details, but he was tired, and at any rate it didn't matter – the deed was done. "Rodolphus was killed in the fight, by Malfoy. Rabastan tried to use Fiendfyre, and it got out of control, so we shut him in the vault with it..."

The Headmistress shuddered at that last detail, but there was barely a flicker on the face of Dumbledore's portrait. He was still eyeing Harry with intense concentration.

"That's not the whole story, is it Harry?" he said, finally. "You didn't all make it out unharmed yourselves..."

"How did..." Harry began, and then something clicked. He span around, looking for a silver-haired witch he had seen several times before. Finally, he settled on the portrait of Dilys Derwent, and its occupant went red. "Your portrait is in St Mungo's, isn't it?"

Dilys looked at the floor and nodded, as if admitting some terrible misdemeanour, as Harry turned back to Dumbledore.

"Alright, yes. Neville was wounded in the fight, he's still in the Spell Damage Ward."

"Longbottom?" McGonagall gasped. There was a motherly tone in her voice which either hadn't been present when Harry was at Hogwarts, or had been very well hidden...

"Yes," Harry nodded. "The Healers said he'll live, but..."

"But...?"

"He's half blind. He won't be able to come back to work as an Auror."

There was an awkward, pregnant silence. McGonagall looked shaken, and only snapped back into concentration when Dumbledore spoke again.

"Minerva," he began, "I do believe that was a _hint_."

"Hmm? What?" she replied, dazedly.

"I do believe – and correct me if I'm wrong, Harry – that Mr Potter wants you to give Mr Longbottom a job..."

"A job?" McGonagall murmured, now rather more awake. "Well, he _is _apt enough at Herbology... if you were asking me in a year or two, when Professor Sprout retires, I'd give him the job in an instant, but in the mean time..."

"In the mean time, you need a Defence teacher," Harry interjected, and McGonagall scowled slightly, as if asking how he knew. "Ginny told me... Neville's an Auror, for God's sake! That makes him more than qualified! Let him teach Defence until Sprout retires, and then he can take over as the Herbology Professor..."

"Now there's a thought..." McGonagall mused, looking suddenly contemplative. "Your friends are doing fine without a Professor thanks to your little 'Dumbledore's Army' escapade" – Dumbledore himself beamed proudly at that – "but the younger years _are _struggling for the lack of a proper teacher."

"Then you'll consider it?" Harry said, sounding more excited than he had in weeks.

"I will most _certainly_ consider it," McGonagall nodded. "Now, Mr Potter, will you be joining us for the evening?"

"Oh, I don't know, I really should-"

"I should really point out that Gryffindor house would be most disappointed if they realised I had let you go so easily. Miss Weasley in particular, I think, has been longing to see you – purely in the interests of Quidditch, _of course_."

A sly smile had broken across Professor McGonagall's face, and Harry couldn't help grinning back...

* * *

><p>"It'll be fine, Ginny..." Seamus moaned, as he listened to her frantic worrying yet again.<p>

"But Hufflepuff's looking _really good_ this year," she moaned, "and Zachariah Smith said-"

"Since when," Seamus interrupted angrily, "did we listen to what that _git_ says?"

"Even so-"

"Ginny, stop it. The team's great – well, except for old Dean here, maybe..."

"Oi!"

"Just jokin', just jokin'..."

The fact was, no matter how many boisterous Irish pep talks she endured, Ginny _was _nervous. There was less than a week to go before their first Quidditch match, and even as they descended towards the Great Hall for dinner, she was well aware that most of the busy chatter and gossip around them was related to it. The strain was enormous anyway, without the inevitable comparisons to Harry that soon sprang up – if _she _doubted she was up to the job, how was anyone else supposed to believe it? Add to that the fact that Luna was still unconscious in the hospital wing and Hermione was looking worse than ever, and the stress seemed to form a visceral knot inside Ginny's head.

It wasn't just Quidditch that was bothering Ginny – Harry's appearance that morning had initially filled her with joy, but was now something of a resentful memory. She understood why he had acted as he did – everyone now knew the news he had been sent to break – but did he _really _have to ignore her like that? He'd barely looked at her, not even a nod or a fleeting smile...

She was so preoccupied with the memory of Harry that as they walked into the Great Hall, she didn't notice the man himself waiting by the Gryffindor table. The messy black hair and piercing eyes just didn't seem to focus in her mind, and it took her at least a minute to realise why Seamus and Dean were grinning, and the rest of the Gryffindor table was watching on in rapture.

Then, it focused. Correction, _he _focused, and Ginny lunged at him, grabbing him tightly around the neck and kissing him, as the Gryffindor table exploded into cheers and laughter.


End file.
